


Groundwork

by Footloose



Series: Loaded March [8]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Military
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-24
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-28 01:45:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 75,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/302362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Footloose/pseuds/Footloose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Merlin's secret is no longer a secret and Excalibur struggles with the knowledge that they had a sorcerer among them all along.  But the mission against the NWO won't wait, and Merlin and Arthur must soldier on.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Groundwork

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Español available: [Trabajos preliminares](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5435231) by [Aisjustrunning](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aisjustrunning/pseuds/Aisjustrunning)



> I don't own the characters to Merlin(TV) and am not profiting from this work.
> 
> This is part eight in the Loaded March series, and it has been partially beta'ed. Any mistakes, however, are solely my own.
> 
> Fair warning: this is a military fic, and there will be military violence.
> 
>  
> 
> Bonus! Feel free to friend Loaded_March for progress reports on new parts of the series. There may also be random snippets and news of other fics I'm working on.
> 
>  
> 
> UPDATE (Jan 26, 2012): Please check out gorgeous [fanart](http://eppy7.deviantart.com/art/Mine-281491662) for a scene from this part of LM by eppy7 (hosted on DeviantArt).

* * *

 

"Put your goddamned guns down!"

Arthur stood between Merlin and the rest of the team, protecting him with his body, one arm curled behind him, fingers grasping at Merlin's dirty tuxedo jacket to keep him from bolting. The moment was surreal, suspended in time.

In the freeze-frame, no one moved, and their horrified, terrified, betrayed, and _furious_ expressions seared a brand on Merlin's soul.

Kay was the first to drop his gun. Lance was second. It wasn't until Owain muttered, "The cops are coming," that everyone snapped out of it, scanning the area, making sure they weren't leaving any identifiers behind.

They walked away from the alley in twos and threes, getting out of there before anyone could spot them, before the flashing blues of the little police cars came on the scene. Morgana insisted on stopping at the Hôtel du Louvre first, because apparently she had packed a _backup_ gown, and while she went to wipe the grime from her face and switch into a gold lamé dress with an antique-finish bodice, while Owain and Geraint and Galahad resumed their posts, the rest of them returned to the gala.

Merlin and Arthur lingered in the bathroom, alone, the boys right outside. Merlin used a flimsy, dampened paper towel to fruitlessly dab at a dirt and gravel stain on his shirt before giving up the task entirely and casting a spell to vanish every trace of the fight, stains and burns and tears.

He couldn't do anything to hide his pain.

"I guess we're set for life when it comes to dry cleaning," Arthur said, watching him in the mirror, trying to lighten the situation, but Merlin couldn't meet his eyes.

No one noticed anything amiss when they returned to the party. If anything, those who had seen Arthur drag Merlin away earlier were favouring Arthur with the same disapproving cold shoulder someone would give the person who'd just beaten a puppy.

Across the crowd, Jonathan Aredian caught Merlin's attention, smirked knowingly, and raised his glass.

Merlin turned away. He wouldn't have been able to keep himself together if he hadn't.

The drive to the house was dead silent, the only sound the soft breathing of everyone in the car. Arthur's hand quested over to his side, fingers twining through Merlin's, squeezing.

No one slept that night. Not Merlin, not Arthur, not the rest of the team. Throughout what remained of the night, equipment was packed, rooms were closed, gear was loaded.

Perceval pretended Merlin wasn't there when he offered to help with the small pyramid of boxes. Owain made himself a sandwich and put everything away without asking Merlin if he wanted one, too, like he normally would. Gwaine had disappeared. Everyone else ducked and avoided eye contact whenever Merlin walked into the room, because they had somewhere else to be right now that wasn't where Merlin was.

They weren't even trying to be subtle.

It was an awkward, uncomfortable, _painful_ flight home.

 

ooOOoo

 

"Is Arthur coming over?" Lamorak asked -- the only one brave (or stupid) enough to mention the man's name given the collective foul mood in the room. It was a collective foul mood that was the direct result of something Arthur had done -- or rather, what he _hadn't_ done. Arthur had _known_ about Merlin, that much had been obvious from the way he'd thrown himself at the other man in the Paris alley. Neither one of them had been arsed to tell the rest of the team that Merlin _had magic_.

They were at Leon's house. It was the only place besides Lance's and Arthur's that could be reasonably expected to house all of the Knights, with the bonus that there was a double-door refrigerator that Perceval could walk into, containing plenty of food to feed them. They were on the main floor, the curtains drawn, Morgana and Gwen out on a spa day that Morgana had firmly indicated that she needed, and she was putting it on the Directory's account.

No one answered Lamorak. No one needed to answer. Arthur was coming over whether he liked it or not.

Perceval looked around the room. Someone -- _Merlin_ \-- had sucked the energy out of the team. Like everyone else, Perceval thought that they'd wormed out every single one of Merlin's secrets a long time ago, but...

 _I guess not._ Perceval rubbed his forehead.

Every ten minutes or so, tempers flared and a rant started, only to fizzle out after a great deal of commiseration but without resolution. At the moment, the team was drawn and tired and exhausted and strained from having gone twelve full rounds with the heavyweight boxing champion of the world, frustrated because they weren't able to land a punch and settle the matter once and for all.

"Gwaine's bringing him," Leon said.

"When?"

Perceval dropped his arm -- it was the only thing holding up his head, given that the rest of him was deflated, listless, broken. He heaved a sigh and checked his watch. He rubbed his eyes. "Gwaine called. Said that Arthur's meeting was running long. He'll detour this way soon as it was over. Twenty minutes, give or take, depending on the traffic."

No one said anything.

They waited.

They were all here -- all of them except for Arthur and Gwaine. All of them except for Merlin. Bohrs was supposed to be over at Arthur's flat with Merlin, playing bodyguard, keeping an eye out for any more surprise attacks.

Except he wasn't.

Bohrs had left the flat as soon as Arthur and Gwaine headed out for Arthur's meeting at Pendragon Consulting, abandoning Merlin to silence and solitude. Fifteen minutes ago, Bohrs' second outburst of the hour had reverberated from the walls and alarmed everyone else with its vehemence, but now, Bohrs was splayed out in a heavy armchair, worrying his lower lip, staring at a spot on the coffee table with sufficient intensity to burn a hole through the marble.

Perceval shifted uneasily. Merlin was alone. Unprotected. Unsecured. Bohrs' action might as well have included an engraved invitation to the NWO and their agents with directions and a map on how to find Merlin, leaving the front door wide open to all and sundry, with nothing to stop them from robbing the place blind and hurting Merlin.

 _Someone_ should be there to keep an eye on Merlin, to make sure that he was safe. Perceval tried to ignore the guilt gnawing at him with the reminder that _Merlin could take care of himself_. He'd certainly done a bang-up job in Paris --

\-- but then again, Perceval hadn't noticed how tired and drawn Merlin had been since. _Could_ he defend himself now?

No one moved. Perceval couldn't blame Bohrs for leaving Merlin. He wasn't so sure that any of them would have done any different. The slap of Merlin's betrayal, of his _lie_ , still stung.

"It makes sense now," Bohrs said quietly. His fingers dug into the fabric of the chair, leaving scratches that Morgana would repair with his tanned hide if she ever found out. "That time in the barracks. I'd said let's take on everyone who's different."

"He ran out then, didn't he?"

"Yeah," Bohrs said, breathing in slowly, letting it out in a strained huff. "Yeah, he did. I thought he'd run out because he thought I meant him being a poof. I should've known he'd run out because I were talking about sorcerers."

"How could you know that?" Kay asked, scoffing. "You were being a fucking idiot. Your mouth and your head not talking to each other, going on and on as usual -- 'course you didn't think he were a sorcerer. None of us did."

A lot of the team was quiet. Those who had been there in that alley had told those who hadn't seen it for themselves what had happened. It was hearsay and bollocks and exaggerations, but they still sat back, pale-faced, not quite believing and not quite accepting that _Merlin_ was a sorcerer. The rest of them were still sorting it out in their heads.

 _Merlin_ was a sorcerer.

The only eyewitness who was keeping his trap shut about the whole thing was Leon. No one was entirely certain how much he'd seen, if he'd seen anything at all. The only thing Leon had said, when Arthur had asked how Morgana was faring, was a biting "Don't worry, Arthur. She didn't see anything."

"He walked out from behind cover like nothing could hurt him," Geraint said suddenly, shaking his head. "Maybe nothing can hurt him."

"If that were true... What about Algiers?" Perceval asked, the memory haunting him even now. "He were a right bloody mess --"

"He were hiding what he was, that's what he were doing," Bohrs snapped.

Lance stood up, a looming, hostile presence in the room, right in the middle, and he gave them a look, harsh and withering. "Merlin almost died in Algiers. _He almost died._ You tell me -- what kind of man has the power he's got, and doesn't use it to save himself?"

No one had an answer for him.

"He walked out from behind cover," Leon said, his voice soft, echoing what Geraint had said. There was a chill to his voice, and everyone held their breath, wondering if this was when Leon would tell them all what he had seen. "You didn't see him. The look on his face. He was terrified, like he knew the odds were against us, against him, too --"

"He went against three sorcerers. _Three_. He was outnumbered! 'Course the odds were against him --" Kay looked as if his patience was running thin.

"It wasn't like the Directory sorcerers," Perceval said, his voice low, but everyone turned to look at him. He shook his head. "You lot weren't there. It weren't pretty blue lights and butterflies and party tricks. It was the real deal --"

"Like on the sniper mission," Owain said, his voice distant and lost. "Our bullets couldn't hit them. They blew up the transport truck right in front of me. I keep playing it over and over in my head. _Something_ pulled me out of there. _Something kept the blast from burning us to a crisp. _Something_ made those buildings fall down on top of the enemy."_

"Something," Galahad muttered.

"Merlin," Owain said, his voice strangely hollow, his gaze fixed at a remembered point in time that no one else could see. "It were Merlin. It must have been."

The silence stretched.

"He was terrified," Leon said again. "But he wasn't thinking, either. He was reacting. He caught that metal balcony before it crushed you."

Lance was nodding. Geraint lowered his head. Bohrs looked furious.

"Tossed it at the sorcerers, just as they were throwing more missiles at me. It absorbed the blast of a couple of them before landing right in front of me to give me some cover," Lance said, sounding a little awed.

Leon rubbed his face. "You saw the news footage. The building that faced the alley, the one that was blown up, and that was from a _small_ missile, not hardly the size of --"

"Bohrs' head," Kay said, sounding bitter, angry, hostile. Perceval knew that he was the only one defending Merlin right now. Perceval wanted to -- he just couldn't. It was... because Merlin... The magic... All the secrets...

 _Because he pulled his gun on Merlin --_ Perceval screwed his eyes shut.

"He saved our lives," Leon said quietly.

"How many times?" Perceval asked, his question a heavy sigh.

"The Zeid Reservoir," someone said. Perceval didn't know who spoke; he was rubbing his eyes, and his ears were still ringing from the reminder that _he'd pulled his gun on Merlin_. On _Merlin_ , who'd never done anything against the team, who never got mad when the team raided his mum's care packages, who'd pouted that time when Owain had freaked out because there'd been a _bloody rattlesnake_ in his bedroll and had taken seven bullets to kill it.

 _It's a snake, O. What has it ever done to you?_ Merlin had asked. He'd made everyone wait while he'd buried the damn thing.

Perceval shook his head and tried not to smile at the memory.

"Yeah. He must have... I mean, it wasn't as if he had a flare on him." Leon rubbed his face. "That light we saw, we assumed it was Sophia and Aulfric, but --"

"Must have been Merlin," Lance finished.

There was a long silence. "Everything comes down to Merlin."

"I wouldn't say _everything_ ," Galahad muttered. "It's not like we're not dab hands with a gun --"

"We're not exactly dragging our heels either," Geraint put in.

"We all pull our own weight and then some," Owain said, sounding insulted that anyone would even hint that the rest of them couldn't handle matters themselves, with or without magic. "Merlin more than most, and you know who I'm talking about --"

Owain looked pointedly at Bohrs, who had a habit of slacking off when he could get away with it. Bohrs wasn't alone, though, and Perceval saw Pellinor's head duck down rather than make eye contact.

"-- the way Arthur pushes him, having him carry triple loads on rucksack runs, piling on more weight at PT --"

"He puts in as much as we do, if not more," Kay said.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, don't tell me _you_ have a crush on him, too?" Bedivere said, snorting.

"He's my _friend_ ," Kay said, standing up to face Bedivere. Perceval couldn't see Kay's expression, but he was sure that it was dark and clouded, with that _I could kill you_ set of his jaw. "He's _our_ friend. When hasn't he been there for us?"

"When he fucking _lies_ to us --" Bohrs snapped.

"When did he lie? He can't lie -- he's a sodding _poor_ liar --"

"When Smith -- I mean, Bayard, or whatever the fuck his name is -- came around, tested us for magic, and Merlin --"

"Did he lie then? Or did he just not admit to having it?" Kay challenged, and there was the pall of a heavy, choking silence over the group, because everyone was trying to remember exactly what it was that Merlin had said.

All Perceval could remember was Smith -- Bayard -- giving Merlin the pen and telling him to make it float. All he could remember was the pen falling to the ground, clattering, rolling. Had it really been lying? Or had Merlin merely been holding back? Or had the spell Bayard tell them to use -- had it not worked for Merlin? Was magic that fickle?

Perceval rubbed his face.

"That little fucking bastard. I'm going to wring his scrawny little neck --"

"You do, and I'll kill you," Arthur said, cutting Bohrs off before he could finish a threat that no one else was going to interrupt, that no one else was even going to _stop_ from being carried through. Perceval lowered his eyes, embarrassed, shame-faced, because he couldn't bring himself to even begin to tell Bohrs to shut up, that he was out of order. He couldn't even consider standing in his way, of protecting someone who'd no doubt used his power again and again, in secret, to protect them.

There were no words for what he was feeling now. It was a conglomeration of conflicting emotions that suffocated him from the inside out.

Arthur stood in the doorway, his hair mussed, his power suit rumpled, the tie loosened and the knot askew, the top few buttons of his shirt undone. He flung his jacket on top of the pile of coats in the corner, rolling up his sleeves. He looked at them all, his blue eyes flashing, his expression _thunderous_ , and Perceval thought lightning would come crashing down on them at any moment, because they'd crossed the will of a God.

"Someone tell me you lot haven't been stupid. That you cleared the house of bugs before you started your bitch session," Arthur growled.

"It's clean," Lamorak said.

"This is on you," Bohrs said, standing up abruptly, pointing a finger at Arthur. "You knew. You _knew_ all along."

"I suspected," Arthur said, and how he managed to keep his voice calm and even with Bohrs roaring at him, Perceval didn't know. "I didn't know for sure until the Reservoir, when those CIA agents tried to use me as a sacrifice. Saw him, just..."

Arthur shook his head, as if the mere memory of it was too much for him, and he finished with, "... he killed for me. To save me."

"How do you know he wasn't after you? That he wasn't trying to kill you?"

Fourteen disbelieving pair of eyes went to Bohrs, and Perceval was gratified to know that at least, in this, most of the team were in agreement. "Are you taking the piss? Merlin would sooner sacrifice _himself_ \--"

"Will you shut up, you lot?" Bohrs snarled, looking around the room with hard eyes until everyone quieted down. He turned to Arthur. "You knew. And you didn't tell us."

Arthur took a lazy step forward, but Perceval saw the resignation in his eyes. "I knew for sure when he _told_ me."

"When was that?"

"The night Kilgarrah sent us the coded message that we were getting seconded. He told me right before the call," Arthur said.

"But you knew before that," Bohrs accused.

"I knew before," Arthur admitted. "I'd been watching him for a while."

"Since the Reservoir."

"Since before then," Arthur said. "After I heard what happened on the sniper mission. Before that, too, I think. After the Ravines."

No one said anything for several long minutes.

"Why didn't you tell us?" Leon asked, calm, patient, still somewhat disjointed, still in shock over the Paris blow-out, at nearly having lost Morgana. Perceval couldn't blame him. It was the same look that Arthur had right now, wavering between the awareness that he could have lost Merlin and that he could be losing his team now.

"It wasn't my secret to tell," Arthur said, his voice low. "I wasn't going to take that away from him."

No one said anything. Arthur rubbed his forehead. "Look. Bohrs is right. This is on me. Merlin wanted to tell you. I'm the one who told him not to --"

"Why the bloody _hell_ would you do that?" Bohrs shouted.

" _Because I'm trying to protect him_ ," Arthur shouted back, his voice cracking. Perceval was floored; he'd never seen Arthur this terrified before, the incident in Algiers included. From the looks on everyone else's faces, including Bohrs, they were as stunned as Perceval. Arthur looked away, shaking his head, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm himself before he went on. "I told him that he had to wait until it was the right time. When the Directory wasn't around to overhear."

"What does the Directory have to do with it?" Geraint asked. "If they knew, maybe they could've trained him, you know, made him more useful to us --"

"He's terrified of them," Kay said, his voice soft, so impossibly soft that it broke Geraint's question before he could finish talking, so soft that it sent chills down Perceval's spine. Perceval hadn't known that Kay could _care_ about someone so much.

Then, he realized, it didn't surprise him. He cared, too. Merlin had gotten under everyone's skin. Stubbornly keeping at it until he was acknowledged a member of the team. Doing whatever that was asked of him without complaint. Suffering the team's jibes and pranks with good humour and giving as good as he got. Merlin was their _friend_.

And some of them remembered that more easily than Perceval. Perceval lowered his eyes.

That was why this secret cut so deep. Because Merlin hadn't trusted them with it.

"Terrified?" Bohrs scoffed. "Him? He's got _power_ \--"

"Did you even see him after he took them out?" Lance asked, laughing hoarsely. "He could barely _stand_ \--"

They'd gone back to the Louvre -- Morgana over Leon's protests and in a new gown -- purely to maintain appearances. Arthur had slipped into his role flawlessly, as if he'd never left, but Merlin had fallen uncharacteristically silent, lingering at the periphery of their vision, staying as still as possible lest the slightest movement attract unwanted attention.

He'd looked gutted then, drawn, exhausted, but given the spectacle that Arthur had engineered right before they'd run after Morgana, no one had raised an eyebrow, asked any questions, or dared to approach him.

The only person to watch Merlin had been Arthur, barely able to hide the flicker of concern behind the aggravated disdain of a man who had had quite enough with Merlin's antics.

Perceval thought about Merlin in the rear passenger seat of the Lincoln on the drive back to the. He'd sat curled against the passenger door, hollow and gaunt, all of his energy gone from him. He had been more pale than usual, almost transparent, the purple and blue of his veins standing out against a ghostly pallor. Arthur had tried to hold Merlin, to convince him to lay down and rest, but Merlin had pushed his hands away feebly, refusing physical contact, keeping his head averted to hide the tears streaming down his face.

But Perceval had seen the tears in the rearview mirror. He'd heard Merlin's soft murmurs, not knowing what Merlin was saying, frightened that he'd been casting a spell until he'd made out the words, "It hurts." Perceval didn't know if Merlin had been delirious with exhaustion, or if he'd been injured.

He was humiliated now to realize that he hadn't cared enough to find out at the time.

Perceval didn't realize he'd been talking, describing that very scene, how it had burned itself into his memory, until he looked up to see everyone staring at him, until Gwaine touched his face to brush away the tears he hadn't known he'd shed. He knew then, at this very moment, that Merlin might not have been talking about the after-effects of the magical battle, but how his so-called _friends_ had treated him afterward.

No one except Arthur had wanted -- had _cared_ \-- to go near him.

"And after that. You didn't see him. He..." Arthur said, his voice rough, but he didn't continue, didn't describe it for them, as if he couldn't, because it was too private, too personal, too terrifying.

Perceval didn't need him to explain. He knew. He'd _seen_. Merlin had sagged against Arthur as if Arthur was the only thing holding him up. It was Arthur that hauled him up the stairs under the pretence of finishing the packing so that they could catch their flight in the morning.

It was like Algiers all over again, except, this time, no one had wanted to help. No one had wanted to come close.

"He was going to tell you," Arthur said again. "He was. I'm the one that made him wait. I wanted to wait until we were here in London, without the Directory looking over our shoulders. But Paris -- Paris took that away from us."

Instead of staying for a miniature holiday, Lance and Gwen had come back with the rest of the team. Gwen didn't want to leave Morgana, and Morgana, for all her bluster, had been easy to convince to leave the country and return home rather than stay behind for a few more meetings with some of their key clients. Not even Uther had tried to convince any of them otherwise when he'd heard what happened.

 _Paris took a lot from us,_ Perceval knew. Morgana's confidence. Her sense of security. Her self-assurance. Gwen had been shaken; she hadn't been the victim, but she would never see Paris in the same way again. Paris wasn't the city of lights, of romance and beauty.

Not anymore.

Paris had taken away their trust, their faith in one another, their _innocence_.

"Why is it such a big secret?" Bohrs asked, his voice a half-scoff. "Why couldn't he have told us from the start?"

"If you were Merlin, would you have?" Kay challenged.

"'Course I would've," Bohrs said. "Come right up to you lot and said, look, I'm a fucking mutant, I can blow things up --"

"Bollocks," Lance said.

Everyone turned to look at him.

"Bollocks," Lance said again. "If it were me, _I_ wouldn't have. You lot, you're my best friends. But you wouldn't have known about magic, wouldn't have believed it existed, until I went and proved it to you. And then, what? You'd look at me like I'd grown a second head, never let me alone about it, never spoken to me again. So don't tell me that you'd step out of the closet like that, Bohrs, because we know you're _just not that brave._ "

"Fuck you," Bohrs said. "But _we_ know about magic. We've seen it with our own damn eyes. It's been months. Why couldn't he have told us about it then? The Directory --"

"You'd trust the Directory?" Leon asked, half-laughing, his shoulders shaking, as if he were shrugging off the lingering shock. "They haven't exactly been straightforward with us --"

"Never mind what they'd do to Merlin if they found out --" Kay said.

" _Merlin_ hasn't exactly been straightforward with us, either," Bohrs snapped. "I want to know why. Who is he working for? I mean, is he a secret agent for the Directory after all --"

"Bloody well doubt it, if they had Gilli watching Merlin all this time," Geraint pointed out.

"-- then maybe the Directory were right. Maybe Merlin's NWO. Deep, deep undercover, _spying_ on us, doing counterespionage, sabotage --"

"Merlin's _ours_ ," Arthur said firmly, as if there was no wavering from that point, no convincing him otherwise.

Perceval wished he could have Arthur's faith. Wished that he had Arthur's courage.

"You're thinking with your dick, Arthur," Bohrs snapped. "He might be such a nice piece of arse that you can't think about anything else, but I could give a shite about him or how good a lay he is. Why the fuck should any one of us believe him now? He _lied_ to us. He's been _lying_ to us all along. And for what? So that he can protect his best friends in the NWO --"

"Why don't we ask him?" It wasn't until the words were out of his mouth that Perceval realized what he'd just said.

 

ooOOoo

 

Arthur had known that something was up when Gwaine drove him back to the house and didn't say a word. When Gwaine took a left instead of a right and detoured up the street, Arthur steeled himself for the inevitable. There had been no missing all the cars parked wherever they could be parked in the front of Morgana's house.

 _Morgana and Leon's house_ , he corrected mentally. The minute they had completed Directory training and he had received his instructions to return to London, Leon had given up his apartment and moved in with Morgana. Arthur had never understood why Leon hadn't done it before now, but Paris had been the catalyst that prompted him to take that step.

If Leon would just bloody well _propose_ to her and get it over with. Arthur shook his head and decided that was a conversation he needed to have with Leon in private, at another time.

He glanced at Gwaine. Gwaine was staring straight ahead, driving them both over to Arthur's house. The expression on his face wasn't any different than it had been when Gwaine had driven him to the ambush.

"So we're having it out now, then?" Arthur had asked Gwaine, and Gwaine answered with a shrug.

"Not my idea, to be honest," Gwaine had said, giving Arthur a few minutes to sigh heavily, rub his hands over his face, and carry his paperwork into the house, because there was no way he would leave sensitive documents in the car where any idiot could break in and steal them.

Arthur had fully expected something like this to happen. He'd expected it to happen a lot sooner. The day the plane landed in England, for one, but no one wanted to make eye contact then, never mind have a conversation. The day after? Everyone had scattered and had gone to see to their families. Kay and Gwaine had come to Arthur's that first night, continuing their roles as bodyguards, setting up shop in Arthur's spare bedrooms. Perceval had come over the next day, relieving Gwaine. Bohrs took over for Kay after that, and Gwaine had traded places with Perceval.

The routine was that there would always be two of them -- one with Arthur, the other with Merlin. So when he walked into Leon's living room and saw Bohrs, hearing what he said -- _That little fucking bastard, I'm going to wring his scrawny little neck_ \-- Arthur had been ready to kill him

Had said as much.

And now, after all of that -- they were on their way to Arthur's house, because the team wanted to hear it from Merlin's own mouth. Arthur wasn't sure what they wanted to hear. All he knew was that Merlin hadn't been much in a mood to talk since Paris.

Hadn't been much in a mood for anything.

Merlin had been -- still was -- listless, distant, detached, his skin clammy and cool to the touch, his cheeks pale and hollow, his body folding onto itself as if under a great weight.

Fear.

"It's all right," Arthur had whispered, late at night, when they'd arrived at their flat right after the flight from Paris, his hand rubbing up and down Merlin's side, touching his face, brushing his hair, trying to warm Merlin, trying to draw a response from him.

That first night, Merlin didn't sleep. Arthur was actually not certain if Merlin had slept since Paris.

Arthur sighed heavily, rubbing his forehead, not looking up until the car slowed and stopped at the red light. Gwaine was a robot behind the wheel. Of anyone, Arthur had expected Gwaine would've come to talk to him, but he hadn't said much, if he'd said anything at all.

"Gwaine."

"Yeah?"

"What do you think about all this?"

The car crept forward, even though the Mini in front of them hadn't budged and the red light hadn't changed.

"It's bollocks," Gwaine said finally. "Cornering Merlin like this? I saw him this morning. He's... He looks like someone kicked his little mecha dragon, then run over it a few times with their car."

"Yeah," Arthur said after a moment's silence. "But that wasn't what I meant. What do you think? About Merlin's magic?"

The red light blinked out and the green light glowed in the dark, diffused by the late night fog. Gwaine held onto the brake until the car behind them leaned on the horn, and he followed the Mini through the traffic. He licked his lips and shook his head, grimacing.

"I don't give a shite about his magic. I mean, it's nice and all. That's not what bothers me. It's... I go and tell you not to hurt him. I tell you I'll shoot you if you do. Then _I_ go and pull a gun on him," Gwaine said, his tone strained. "How the bloody fuck do you think I feel? Seeing Merlin look at me like that? Fucking _terrified_ of me?"

 _About the same way I felt when Merlin looked like he was going to run away from me,_ Arthur didn't say.

"This isn't a good idea," Gwaine said, driving down another road, slowing down and pulling into the narrow driveway. "Merlin's... Them lot coming at him like angry villagers with pitchforks... He's going to spook, isn't he?"

"I don't know," Arthur said, getting out of the car. He didn't even know if Merlin would still be at the house. If the enemy would have taken advantage of their departure to come after Merlin. If Merlin would've done something stupid and left on his own.

He was going to throttle Bohrs. He was.

The others were pulling up in the driveway behind his car, finding spots along the side of the road, or parking up further up the street and walking over. Arthur unlocked the front door, disabled the security alarm, stepped aside to let Gwaine walk in first and to clear the area.

The main floor was as he'd left it that morning in his rush for Uther's "emergency" board meeting -- a board meeting that ate half of his day, lured him into handling department paperwork, and pulled him into a dinner meeting with a pair of suits who fancied themselves experts on all things military, exchanging quips over appetizers that were one-liners from **Band of Brothers**.

Boxes shipped from the base were tucked away in one corner of the living room, still unpacked. There was a kit tucked next to the island in the kitchen. The dining room table where Merlin had set up his laptop -- laptops, plural -- and had cracked open one of the shipping containers was exactly as Arthur remembered. The netbook from the Directory was on its side and in pieces. His laptop was open and locked. There were a few sheets of paper with pencils and a calculator that looked as if it would be more at home in the British Space Agency's astrophysics laboratory.

The only thing that was different now from this morning was that Merlin wasn't in that chair at the head of the table, in _Arthur's_ chair, sitting with one leg tucked under him, taking out every piece of the partially-disassembled dragon toy that his uncle had sent him, mumbling that he had every intention of having it functional by the time Arthur came home.

The dragon was curled in a ball next to Merlin's main laptop. It raised its head in a crinkle of metallic movement that was too smooth, too real, and it unfurled wings made out of silvery, fibrous material as it stood up, craning its neck, and _hissing_ at him. It shook itself out of its nap -- out of _standby mode_ , Arthur tried to remember, because this was a machine -- and planted a clawed paw over the cold remnants of Merlin's breakfast.

Merlin's _untouched_ breakfast.

The breakfast that Arthur had made for him before he'd left that morning. An egg omelette, heavy on the cheese, extra thick slices of toast slathered in butter.

Arthur touched the plate. The dragon hissed at him again.

One lamp was lit. The light over the oven was on. There was no sign of Merlin.

The others were drifting into the house one by one, shrugging out of their coats, glancing around cautiously, as if they expected some _thing_ to surge out at them from a dark corner of the house. Arthur shared a glance with Gwaine, trying not to look concerned, and gestured at Leon.

"Why don't you call for takeaway?"

Dinner with Uther and the other businessmen hadn't involved a lot of food, and Arthur had a feeling that it was going to be a long night.

He only hoped that it wasn't going to be a long night of searching for Merlin.

"Well, where is he, then?" Bohrs asked, shoving his way into the living room, full of cocky bravado as he threw his jacket on the couch, scanning the open area.

It took every ounce of strength that Arthur had not to lunge at Bohrs, to beat the bloody shite out of the idiot who should know better than to swagger in when he'd fucked up. Instead, Arthur walked over to him. There must have been something in his expression, something in his walk, something to warn Bohrs off, because Bohrs took a nervous step away, and another, and another, until his legs struck the couch. He threw his arm out to keep from falling over backward.

"What's my number one rule?" Arthur asked, keeping his voice low.

"What?"

"What's my number one rule? When we're on missions. What's my number one rule, Bohrs?"

"I don't --"

"Someone help him out here," Arthur said, turning his head slightly to the side, where the rest of the team was milling around, slowly spreading into the familiar surroundings and getting comfortable again. "What's my number one rule?"

"Never leave a teammate without backup," Leon said, covering the voice pickup of his phone. He moved into the kitchen, and Arthur heard him ordering, "Four large pepperoni pizzas, extra pepperoni. Two large vegetarians, no olives. Two meat lovers. Yeah. Two Hawaiians."

"That's right," Arthur said, turning his eyes to Bohrs. "Never leave a teammate without backup. And what did you do today?"

Bohrs swallowed.

"You broke my number one rule," Arthur said. "You left a teammate alone. You left _Merlin_ alone."

Arthur didn't give Bohrs a chance to say anything, if he was even able to say something in the first place. Arthur pointed a finger at Bohrs before turning away to head up the stairs, tugging his tie off along the way. His hands trembled, his gut clenched, and his heart pounded in an uneven, sketchy rhythm.

_Please be here._

He pushed the bedroom door open. It was dark inside, except for the glow of the neighbour's backyard light, too bright and angled to shine clean through Arthur's bathroom window -- he'd _talked_ to the arrogant fuck next door about that spotlight three times already. The bed was made, the blankets smooth, the pillows plumped.

_Please be here._

Arthur's foot bumped against something at once soft and unyielding. He turned on the lights, his breath catching in his chest, where it _burned_ , because he recognized Merlin's duffel bag.

There was a soft groan from a corner of the room. Arthur nearly collapsed from the wash of relief when he saw Merlin, sitting on the floor, his legs folded up to his chest, his elbows on his knees, his hands covering his eyes. He shifted slightly, stretching a leg out, rubbing his face, squinting against the light.

"Merlin? What are you doing?"

"'M waiting for you," Merlin said tiredly. "'M... I don't know what I'm doing, actually."

Arthur threw his tie on the bed, his coat right after, and sat down next to Merlin on the floor, legs, arms, shoulders touching. Arthur was trying very hard to ignore the open dresser drawers -- the same drawers he'd given Merlin for his things, the drawers that had been full that morning, but were empty now. The duffel bag was plump and rounded and probably contained everything.

He dreaded to think what the closet looked like, with empty hangers where Merlin's clothes had been.

There were a lot of things that Arthur wanted to tell him. A lot of things that he wanted to ask.

_Why didn't you call me when Bohrs left?_

_It'll pass. They'll get over it._

_Why did you pack your things?_

_Were you going to leave me?_

Instead, all he did, all that he could do, was shift his body slightly, draping an arm around Merlin's shoulders, tugging him closer. There was no resistance; Merlin slipped against him and heaved a shuddering sigh.

"You didn't eat breakfast," Arthur said finally, breaking the silence.

"Wasn't hungry," Merlin said.

"You haven't been eating at all."

Merlin shrugged. "Haven't been hungry."

"Merlin --"

Merlin shifted then, pulling away from Arthur, leaning forward with his elbows on his crossed legs, his face in his hands. "Why are you doing this, Arthur? Why are you acting like nothing happened? Why aren't you scared of me?"

"Why should I be?" A shadow shifted in the doorway; Gwaine came in cautiously, glancing down when he kicked the duffel bag in the same way Arthur had done earlier. Gwaine frowned, indescribable emotions crossing his expression, hurt and fear and confusion in a swirling mixture of something that didn't have a name.

Merlin didn't look up, didn't seem aware that Gwaine was there. "Everyone else is."

Arthur put a hand on Merlin's shoulder, letting it slide down to rub his back; sometimes it soothed Merlin enough for him to relax, to get him to sleep. This was the first time that Merlin put words to the phantoms that were haunting him.

"I'm not everyone else," Arthur said.

"I should've told you sooner. I should've told _everyone_ sooner. I shouldn't have waited -- now everyone hates me."

"You told me when you were ready to tell me," Arthur said, feeling the bony knobs of Merlin's spine, the solidity of lean muscles, the coolness of a body that was barely kept warm, by the thin shirt he wore. "You told me. That's all I care about."

Gwaine picked up Merlin's duffel bag, the movement slow, soundless, deliberate; he walked with a stalker's step toward the walk-in closet, tucking the bag out of the way and out of sight, shutting the door, so that no one else would think that Merlin had been about to do a runner -- even if that was what it looked like.

Arthur didn't want to think that Merlin would've run away. He didn't even want to think that it was a possibility.

"I should've..."

"Don't," Arthur said. "Don't second-guess yourself. Not now, not ever. You did what had to be done, that no one else could do."

Gwaine caught his eye. He tilted his head and gestured toward the stairs, making a motion for Arthur to do what he could before the natives got restless and stormed the bedroom. Arthur nodded and waited until Gwaine was gone before sliding closer, trying to see Merlin's expression, to see if he was reaching Merlin at all.

Merlin turned his head away.

"They're downstairs, aren't they?" Merlin asked, his voice soft.

Arthur put his forehead against Merlin's shoulder and nodded. "Yeah. Our bunch of wankers finally found their balls."

There was a tiny little chuckle from Merlin; it even sounded genuine, but that might have been wishful thinking. "Is. Is Bohrs with them?"

"Yeah." Arthur didn't want to ask, he didn't want to know, but the question was out of his mouth before he could stop it. "When did he leave?"

"Oh. Um." Merlin shrugged.

Arthur grit his teeth. "Right after I left, didn't he?"

Merlin rubbed his hands together, picking at a hangnail. Arthur swallowed his anger, because now really wasn't the time to get angry about a breach of protocol, never mind the completely _pillock_ move of having left Merlin on his own when Merlin was in this state.

"Do you want to talk to them?"

Merlin didn't answer right away. He rubbed his face and sighed heavily. "I suppose I should."

"No rush," Arthur said, running his hands up and down Merlin's bare arms, frowning, not liking how cold he felt. "Take your time. Take a shower to warm up --"

Merlin shook his head. "I'm all right. I'll just. Wash up, yeah?"

"Yeah," Arthur said softly, watching Merlin pull himself up slowly, awkwardly, with the reluctance of someone who didn't want to, the stiffness of someone who'd been sitting too long, and half of his body didn't want to respond. Arthur listened to the water running in the bathroom, and rubbed his face in frustration. _Fuck._

He went downstairs.

Arthur stood at the base of the stairs, hands in his pockets, staring at the floor, wishing he could turn back time and _fix_ this, because if there was anyone who was less deserving of the team's ire, it was Merlin. This was Arthur's fault, all of it. He could have found a way for Merlin to tell Excalibur, to break the news, to let them _know_ \-- and they could have avoided all this buggering bollocks that was distracting them from what was important. Their friendship with Merlin. The mission.

"So, where is he?" Bohrs asked, this time with a bit of a waver in his voice, still as cowed now as he had been when Arthur had backed him up against the couch.

Arthur stared at him for a long time, waiting for the overwhelming urge to _beat the man within a hair of his life_ to fade before he spoke. "He's coming. Give him a minute."

"A minute," Bohrs asked, glancing over the others. They'd made themselves comfortable, pulling chairs into the living room, lounging on the couch and the side chairs in a semi-circle in front of the plasmascreen TV, though no one had turned it on. "Buying him time to get away, aren't you?"

Leon and Lance were standing off to the side, shooting Bohrs disapproving glances, and Kay looked as if he wanted to launch himself from the couch and start a brawl.

"If he were getting away, he would've done it ages ago, wouldn't he, when you nicked off on him this morning, yeah?" Perceval stood up, and so did Owain. Between the two of them, the room was suddenly very full of fierce loyalty, and it was something that Arthur hadn't thought he would see again.

The relief was short-lived.

"I didn't see any of you rushing over here to take over for me," Bohrs said, crossing his arms over his chest. "Just sat on your arses staring at the TV, bitching and moaning like bloody fucking school kids --"

"Bohrs," Arthur said, trying to distract the man before he started a _war_ in his living room, to redirect Bohrs' attention toward the person who truly deserved it -- not Perceval or Owain or any of them. Not Merlin.

Him. Only him. It was his decision. He was the one who made the call. This cock-up -- no one was to blame for it but Arthur.

"Now, now, as pleasant as it would be to watch the lot of you whip out your cocks for a _who's dick is bigger_ contest --"

"Oi," Bohrs said, stepping into Gwaine's space, poking a finger in his chest. "You shut your mouth. The way you've been panting after Merlin -- for all we know, you've been covering up his secret all along. You snoop through his belongings, you're always with him. He must have told you something --"

"Merlin?" Owain snorted. "Our Merlin, _volunteering_ information? You're right thick, if you've forgotten Merlin's anti-interrogation training."

"Point in fact, look how long it took him to tell us he were gay," Pellinor said.

"For fuck's sake, I could give a bloody fuck about him being a poof," Bohrs snapped. "We're talking about his magic here."

"Enough. You're pissed -- but if you want to take it out on someone, don't take it out on them. It's none of them their fault, this. I'm the one who told Merlin to keep mum, yeah? So, go on. Take it out on me."

"Or me," Merlin said.

Arthur whirled around.

Merlin's hair was damp from scrubbing his face and cupping water over his head to wake himself up, slicked back in spiky scales that stood up on their own as they dried. He was pale, much paler than Arthur had seen him a few minutes ago, the hollow of his cheeks and the black under his eyes giving another definition of exhaustion for the OED if anyone could come up with a word for it.

He was barefoot, his jeans hung loosely from his hips and it seemed that only his belt kept them from falling, and his shirt was stretched taut over his chest, and only because Merlin's arms were crossed tightly over it.

"It comes down to me," Merlin said, his voice soft. He wasn't looking at anyone in particular; if anything, his gaze was lost and unfocused, the usually bright blue of his gaze obscenely dull, the life nearly gone from them. "Not Arthur. Not any of you. Only me."

No one said anything, not even Bohrs, who, for a small mercy, was silent for a change, a troubled expression falling over him, as if he hadn't realized -- as none of them had, not even Arthur -- the torment that Merlin had been and was still putting himself through.

"Never wanted to tell anyone else more. Not in my whole life," Merlin said. He bit his lower lip. He uncrossed his arms enough to gesture feebly in Arthur's direction before tightening his arms around his chest again. "I mean. Arthur's the only person I've actually _told._ "

 

ooOOoo

 

"Mum says she knew first, 'course. Used to tell me stories how I couldn't wait for her to give me the toys I wanted, that I'd get them for myself. I'd make the swirly thing over my crib move when the battery ran out. Even make the pureed carrots disappear from my bowl between one spoon to the next because I hated them. Mum used to say that she would find the rest of it in the cat's bowl."

Someone chuckled. Merlin didn't know who it was. He didn't dare look up.

The team had showed up, every single one of them, just like Arthur had said. Everyone was scattered around the living room, watching him, and he could feel their eyes like he'd never felt them before. He was the center of attention, self-conscious because of it, unable to look at anyone, not even Arthur, because he _hated_ this. He hated this thing that he'd caused. The tension, the friction, the anger. All of it.

Excalibur had been the perfect team before he'd come along, and the only thing he'd ever wanted was to fit in. Instead, he'd gone and ruined it. What he'd done -- or hadn't done -- had shoved a wedge between Arthur and the rest of the team. It was a crack that was growing bigger with every tick of the clock.

Merlin swallowed hard, took a deep breath, and continued.

"Then it were my dad. He'd come home from duty a couple of months after I were born. Mum had it with me. Were completely fed up. I had colic, I suppose. Or something like it. Mum told me how he'd come home covered in travel dust, and she shoved me in his arms. _Here, take your son, I haven't slept in two days..._ "

Merlin used to be able to laugh when he thought about that story, but now, he could barely muster up a smile. "Told me that I'd sneezed and wouldn't stop sneezing, and made all of the dirt go away. Just like that. Mum used to tell me that my dad would say it were the fastest bath he’d ever had."

Merlin chewed his lower lip. It was hard to talk like this, to say out loud what he'd only ever thought about, but he pretended that he was only talking to Arthur. It was easier, somehow, because he'd imagined himself telling Arthur everything so many times already. He wanted to tell Arthur what it had been like, growing up knowing he could use magic, but being told that he couldn't. He wanted Arthur to understand the relief that it was now that _Arthur_ knew, and despite knowing, treated him the same as he always had.

He felt such ridiculous love for Arthur, but right now, it quailed under the weight of his apprehension, his fear. It was one thing for Arthur to know about his magic, but it was something else altogether for the rest of the team, for the men he had grown to trust, men who were his _friends_ , to find out the way they had, to react to him as if he were the enemy, as if they had been betrayed.

He couldn't blame them. Not Bohrs, who'd left him. Not Gwaine, who'd drawn his gun on him. Not Kay, nor Lance, nor Leon. None of them.

"Had to tell Uncle Gaius, but really, wasn't like he couldn't figure it out for himself. He's who taught me how to control it. Only because, well. He studied magic. Used it, too," Merlin said. He hoped Gaius wouldn’t mind that Merlin was telling the team about his magic. Gaius had never treated his own magic as if it were a secret. People knew; he was open about it in ways that Merlin could never be. It had only been _supremely_ important that Merlin keep his own magic secret, and for reasons that he'd never fully understood until he was much, much older.

"Grew up hearing them tell me... over and over. Hide my magic. Don't use it. Don't let other people catch me using it. Don't talk about it. Ever. It's supposed to be a secret. It doesn't matter if I see other people casting spells or using magic, I wasn't allowed to use it. I couldn't show off. I had to do things like everyone else. Clean my room myself. The dishes. Even do my laundry. It kept getting pounded in me, over and over. It was a secret. Always a secret."

Merlin's arms hurt. He loosened the clench of his hands around his biceps, but it was a struggle to uncross his arms.

"Why?" someone asked. Merlin wasn't sure who it was. It sounded like it might be Kay. "Why did it have to be a secret?"

" _Because_ ," Merlin said. He shrugged a shoulder. "I didn't know why, not for a long time. I was too young, I guess. Mum would just hush me and say _because_. Dad would tell me it were our secret, his and mine, and I couldn't tell anyone. If I did something by accident, Uncle Gaius would take responsibility, and then, when no one was looking, he'd raise his eyebrow at me."

Merlin rubbed his eyes and sighed. He dropped his hands. He risked a quick glance around the room, because things had gone dead silent in an uncomfortable way. Everyone was looking at him oddly, so he said, "It's a really scary eyebrow. You have to see it."

He gestured with his hand. "It's about this thick. It goes all the way up to the hairline. You don't have to be told. You can _feel_ how disappointed he is."

There was still no response from anyone. Merlin shook his head a little. "Never mind."

"So what was it, then? Why did you have to keep mum? It sounds like that's a big secret for a kid to carry," Leon said.

"Yeah," Merlin said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I suppose. I just learned not to use it, I guess. For a while, I didn't. In uni. I don't know. I just had the feeling that it was just safer."

"Who else knows?" Bohrs asked, and Merlin found he couldn't look the man in the eye without feeling intense dread in the pit of his stomach, without that dread turning into something like anger because Bohrs had left him alone.

As soon as Arthur left the house, as soon as they heard the sound of the car leaving the driveway, Bohrs grabbed his things and left without a word, leaving behind eddies of hatred and disgust.

It wasn't as if Merlin didn't blame him, but deep, deep down, he'd _hoped_ that Bohrs, like everyone else, could see past the magic, could see _Merlin_ , his teammate, his friend.

Maybe it was too soon. Maybe it would always be too soon.

Merlin shook his head. Then finally, he nodded. "Will."

"Will," Arthur said, and Merlin nodded, trying to ignore the strange tone in Arthur's voice. He kept his eyes fixed to the floor. "He caught me at it. I think we were four or five years old. We were up in a little ratty piece of shite clubhouse some of the older boys on base had built on the fringes, you know, on the other side of the fence that never seemed to get patched up enough to keep the kids in. Will had pulled a sickie, Mum didn't trust me in school back then so she home-schooled me some, but she got called in for work at the base hospital, and, well, we'd just run off, me and Will, and climbed up the tree. Mrs Wilson next door never even knew we were gone.

"We were going up and down like a pair of idiots. Will was ahead of me, saying we'd make it a race. Except one of the rungs broke under Will, and I were just like this big, really," Merlin said. He held up his hand barely at knee-height, not so sure that anyone would believe Merlin hadn't always been this tall, since they might not believe anything else he was telling them. "Looked like Will were falling from a hundred feet. I caught him and lowered him down slowly then lost my grip and he fell in a thorn bush. Been thick as thieves since then."

"Anyone else?" Bohrs asked again.

Merlin knew that his Mum would never tell anyone, that his father never would have -- and couldn't, now. Uncle Gaius had gone to great lengths, past and present, to protect Merlin, taking the blame, putting himself in the line of fire if it ever came to that.

"You lot," Merlin said. "No one else."

There was a long, impossible silence, and Merlin felt as if he were being suffocated from the outside in. The air was thick, heavy dense, lingering like a cloud of smoke, scratchy and burning like the sulphur of Kilgarrah's cigarettes.

"No one?" Bohrs challenged, taking a step closer. "Not the Directory?"

"No!" Merlin was so startled he looked wide-eyed at Bohrs, holding out his hand. "No, absolutely not. Not them. They can _never_ know --"

"And why the fuck not?" Bohrs asked. "This is their stock and trade. It's what they _do_ \--"

"Are you sure? Are you really _sure_?" Merlin asked, unable to keep the tremble from his voice. "If it's their stock and trade, why aren't they _better_ at it? They're outclassed, they're outnumbered, they _don't know what the hell they're doing_ half the time. And never mind that -- I've heard... I've heard that people who use magic and who got nabbed by the Directory, they're _missing_ \--"

"And you know this how? If you're not Directory, what are you then? NWO?" Bohrs took another step closer, and even though Merlin was a couple of inches taller than the other man, Bohrs had him on weight and muscle alone. If it came down to a fight, Merlin didn't have a chance, and that was only because he didn't have it in him to hurt any of them.

"'M not," Merlin said, struck too dumb to say anything else.

He saw Arthur and Leon and Gwaine step forward to stop Bohrs, but Bohrs stayed where he was, a bare half-metre away from Merlin, well within easy arm's reach if he wanted to do anything to him. Bohrs' lips were in a thin line, his hands clenched at his sides, his shoulders up -- but there was a frown on his brow, a plea, as if he were begging Merlin to give him a reason to believe him, to trust him.

Except Merlin couldn't think of a single thing to say that might convince Bohrs, that would convince them all.

He looked from Bohrs to the rest of the team. At Arthur, who was barely holding himself in check, letting Merlin fight this battle even though Arthur looked as if he wanted to fight it for him. At Leon and Lance, who were watching him with cautious friendship. At Gwaine, who couldn't make eye contact, but who was sticking close by. At Kay, who for some inexplicable reason, was sidling closer, his expression in a hard set the more he glared at Bohrs.

At all-knowing Perceval, who was staggered that he hadn't known. At Owain, who seemed more flabbergasted that there was something on the planet that could create a bigger boom than he could. Geraint and Galahad, who seemed to alternate between _I wish I could do that too_ and _thank fuck I can't_. At Lamorak and Bedivere and Lucan, who hadn't been in Paris and were taking it all in with a proverbial grain of salt. At Gareth and Pellinor, who looked as if they wished that they had been there.

"I'm just me," he said finally. He spread his hands in the air, shaking his head, biting his lip. He took a deep breath and said again, "I'm just me."

There was a slackening of Bohrs' expression, a drop of his shoulders, a loosening of his fists. The faintest of nods, the grudging glimmer of acceptance, the blown-out breath that eased the lines of anger around his mouth.

In a heartbeat, Bohrs’ body tensed, moving --

The punch knocked Merlin clean off his feet, and he landed on the hardwood floor with enough force to knock the breath out of his lungs.

Everything went black for a moment. He saw stars.

For a second, he wondered how he got on the floor, but the pain in his face took away any chance that it had involved Arthur and something far more pleasant.

"Let me go!" Bohrs shouted. "I'm done, yeah --"

Lance was at Merlin's suddenly. Bohrs was a few feet away, looking sheepish and shaking out his hand while Perceval and Owain very cautiously let him go.

Gwaine had his arm around Arthur, holding him back from the murder he looked like he was about to commit.

Merlin blinked, and the scene changed abruptly, Arthur was at his side opposite Lance.

"Come on, Merlin. Say something," Arthur said.

"Something," Merlin managed. "Also. Ow. What the fuck was that for?"

"You deserved it," Bohrs said.

"Too right you did," Geraint put in.

"Hate to agree with the plonker, but he's right," Owain said, sitting back down on the couch. "What the hell were you thinking, keeping something this important from us?"

"Weren't thinking," Merlin said, his head thunking back down on the floor. He saw stars again.

Merlin stared at the ceiling. It was a rather nice ceiling. Probably more comfortable than the floor. Maybe he should talk Arthur into buying a few throw rugs. He tried to sit up, but Lance pushed him back down.

"Stay still."

"While we've got you pinned down, is there anything else that you want to tell us? Something you suppose we should know?" Bohrs asked. He withered a little, and it took Merlin a while to figure out why -- the glare Arthur shot him was full of acid.

Merlin thought about it -- genuinely, truly thought about it. It was a little difficult with the throbbing headache, but he managed. "No. I think I'm completely out of secrets."

"You sure about that?" Kay asked, and Merlin felt a nudge at his foot. "Might be some classified information floating around in there."

"Yeah, might be," Merlin grumbled. He reached up to touch his face, but Lance moved his hand away. "If I told you, I’d have to kill you."

"All right. Good enough, mate," Kay said, squeezing his thigh before moving away.

There was a loud sound that was either the reverberation of Lance's finger poking at Merlin's skull, or the doorbell -- and Leon volunteered, "That's the pizza."

"Leon," Arthur said, straightening slightly. He pulled his wallet out and tossed it. "It's my tab."

"You finally get one right, Arthur. We might actually forgive you sometime this century," Leon said seriously, flipping open the wallet to check for paper money, and tossing the wallet back at Arthur when he took out enough from the fold.

Merlin struggled to sit up again. Lance kept him down for a second longer before going in search of something cold. Merlin was on his wobbly feet again, touching the side of his face gingerly, by the time Lance gave him a bag of peas, fresh from the freezer.

Arthur touched his arm and steadied him.

"All right?" Arthur asked softly.

"Yeah," Merlin said. "I think he pulled his punch."

Arthur's eyebrow quirked. "He probably did. I don't think you’d be getting off the floor if he hadn’t."

Someone had turned on the TV and the footie match highlights were playing on the sixty-inch screen in full high definition resolution. Leon climbed up the stairs from the front door with an armload of pizza boxes that he deposited on the island in the kitchen. Geraint and Galahad -- when had they left? -- returned from the back storeroom with a couple of cases of bottled beer in each hand, dumping them on the coffee table where they were promptly torn open as the team helped themselves.

It was a little surreal to Merlin. Just like that -- the cold front broke.

Or rather, given that some of the team were still shooting him curious looks, the cold front had thawed out.

A little. Maybe half a degree.

Arthur's hand warming the small of Merlin's back was the only solid, sure, _stable_ constant in what was very much a state of flux. Slowly, the team engaged in conversation, tearing apart one pizza before starting on the next, arguing over the footie teams on the telly, acting as if...

As if nothing had happened. As if nothing was wrong. As if everything was back to normal, or as normal as it would ever get given their occupation, the situation, their mission. Merlin blinked several more times, wondering if maybe, just maybe, he'd been punched harder than he'd thought.

"Let me see," Arthur said, pulling the frozen peas from Merlin's face. His expression pinched at whatever he was looking at.

"Well?"

"You'll have a shiner," Lance said, putting his hand on Merlin's shoulder. He paused, and gave Merlin a small little nod. "I wanted to say thank you. For what you did back in Paris. For however many other times you saved my sorry hide."

"Um. You're welcome."

Lance squeezed his shoulder and went to the kitchen, helping himself to a few slices.

Merlin dropped the ice pack from his face and frowned at Arthur, confused. "What just happened?"

"They're warming up to you," Arthur said with a slight shrug, taking Merlin’s hand and guiding the ice pack back to his face. "Keep this on."

It was Arthur who loaded his plate with four generous vegetarian slices, tucking two of Merlin's favourite -- Hawaiian -- on the very bottom where Merlin could only get to them if he ate everything else, but the thought of food made his stomach roil. Merlin stared at the plate for a long time, aborting several attempts to take a slice.

"You have to eat something, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said with a heavy sigh, taking the plate and giving it to a scavenging Owain. He walked past Merlin and put the kettle on.

"I'm fine, Arthur," Merlin said, shaking his head. "Not really that hungry."

Arthur didn't answer him. He took a bowl from the cabinet, a spoon from the drawer, and pulled two packets of instant oatmeal from a box from the cereal cupboard. Merlin grimaced a little when he saw Arthur add some of his protein powder to the bowl, mixing it up before adding the water.

"I said you have to eat," Arthur said, giving him the bowl. The cereal was plain enough that it didn't make Merlin's stomach roil. "You haven't been eating."

"I can't, I --" Merlin glanced around, but everyone had moved out of earshot. It was as if the rest of the team had forgotten they were even there. "My stomach's still in knots."

"It's one less knot now," Arthur said, gesturing towards the others. "Try."

Merlin blew out his breath, but nodded, taking the bowl. The protein power was dubiously labelled _chocolate flavoured_. Maybe he'd be lucky and it would even taste like chocolate.

Merlin ate a few spoonfuls under Arthur's watchful gaze, mumbling " _Are you happy now?_ "

"Yes." Arthur gave him a small, smug look that could mean anything from _I told you my protein shakes weren't that bad_ to _everything will be fine_ before taking his plate and heading over to join the others. Merlin watched enviously as Perceval and Kay shifted over, making room for Arthur.

They'd never do that as readily for Merlin. Not now. Merlin swallowed a sigh and dropped his spoon into the bowl, the oatmeal suddenly even more unappetizing. He turned away, leaning against the counter, the peas against his face.

"Merlin?"

Merlin raised the ice pack enough to make out that the blob on his left was Gwaine. "Yeah?"

Gwaine slid up next to him, opening a fresh box to help himself to a couple of pepperoni slices. He dropped both on his plate, pausing to take a big bite.

"I'm sorry," Gwaine said abruptly.

Merlin half-chuckled, but it was more to relieve the pain in his chest than to express actual amusement. "Isn't that my line?"

"You haven't anything to be sorry for," Gwaine said. "You had your reasons, yeah?"

Merlin didn't answer, using the bag of peas to cover up the prickling sensation of tears in his eyes.

"Me, I haven't an excuse," Gwaine went on, his voice low. "Not one. I shouldn't have pulled my gun on you. Not on you --"

"Never mind. I deserved it," Merlin said, because he was damned if he would prove Arthur right that he _really was a girl_. His eyes were really burning now.

"No. No, Merlin," Gwaine insisted. "I should've known better. I shouldn't have done it. You're the last person I could ever... that I would ever..."

There was a quiet quality in Gwaine's voice, cracked and broken and desperate not to show it, that Merlin reacted in the only way he knew how, because Gwaine wasn't listening to him --

Merlin dropped the bag of peas --

And wrapped his arms around Gwaine's shoulders, tugging him close, hugging Gwaine tight until he'd squeezed out a small, strangled sound from Gwaine. There was a moment of hesitation, of awkwardness, and finally, Gwaine sighed, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist, tucking his head down in the crook of Merlin's neck.

"We're all idiots," Gwaine said, his breath tickling Merlin's throat, but strangely, not doing anything to Merlin the way it did when it was _Arthur_.

"Me more than anyone," Merlin admitted.

"Oi. Hands off my boyfriend, yeah?" Arthur warned, suddenly close by. There was no edge to his voice, not even a little bit -- maybe a bit of concern, maybe a lot of affection. Arthur reached over the lip of the island, helping himself to a couple of slices of pizza, locking eyes with Merlin in a way that made Merlin blush.

"Not my fault you left him lying around," Gwaine said, but he let go, patting Merlin's shoulder as he withdrew. "But you're right, Merlin. You're an idiot. Also, Arthur's right. You have to eat. You're bloody bony. That can't be comfortable."

"Nice one," Arthur said, smirking, and Merlin gave him a frown.

"Not thinking of you, mate. I'm thinking of my own comfort here," Gwaine said with a wink. He took Merlin's bowl and set it in front of him. "Eat."

It seemed as if that was the cue that most of the team had been waiting for, because they came to the kitchen, milling around the island, abandoning the telly in favour of arguing over who would be getting the last piece of the Hawaiian. There was a lingering strain itching at Merlin's senses the way a torn scab healed, pulling at the skin. They'd forgive Arthur for not telling them. Arthur was their Captain, their leader, the one they all looked to when things went to shite, but Merlin...

Merlin was surrounded by the team, but didn't know where he stood with them.

Again.

Abruptly, Perceval worked his way closer, shoving Lamorak aside. He leaned against the island next to Merlin, picking up the congealing oatmeal, inspecting the contents for a brief moment before letting the bowl clatter on the counter.

"So." Perceval grimaced, and Merlin winced inwardly, knowing that he was going to have to win the team's trust one by one, and that Perceval might be the hardest one of them all to win back.

"Yeah?" Merlin held his breath.

"I was wondering. About the magic?"

"Yeah?"

"Can you pull a rabbit out of a hat?"

 

ooOOoo

 

Arthur struggled with a complaining Merlin -- _I'm not that tired, I can stay up_ \-- for the six and a half minutes that it took to yank off his T-shirt, unbutton his jeans, strip him out of his boxers, and to tuck him under the sheets. He sat on the bed next to Merlin, enduring an endless string of wordless under-his-breath grumbling while Merlin shifted and turned over and finally settled down, lying on his back on _Arthur's_ side of the bed.

He waited until Merlin stopped squirming before getting up, walking around the bed, and sat next to Merlin.

He threaded his fingers through Merlin's soft hair for... he lost track of time, but it didn't matter, because eventually, _finally_ , Merlin fell asleep.

Arthur watched Merlin for a while. He'd been fooled before. Sometimes, Merlin pretended that he was asleep, then spent the entire night staring at the ceiling or watching videos off his smartphone. Other times, he'd nod off into a thirty-second catnap and jerk out of it, going from completely unconscious to alarmed and awake, haunted by the attempted kidnapping on Morgana, the sheer raw power he'd used to save her, and the way he'd turned to his team, only to find that his team had turned on _him_.

 _Christ_. Arthur rubbed his head. He was furious, but not at his team.

There had been a complete breakdown of security -- where had been the Directory agents who had been assigned to keep Morgana safe? Why would Morgana, who had _written_ nearly as many company security protocols as Arthur had done, if not more, be stupid enough to go off to the bathroom with a complete stranger in the first place?

(It had emerged, later, after conversation with Leon, that the woman's eyes had briefly changed colours, like reddish or orange or something of the sort, but before he could react, much less recognize the tell-tale mark of a sorcerer, his mind had gone completely blank. The next thing he knew, Morgana was gone and Gwaine had been yelling at him for a full minute. The answer to the question of why Leon had done _nothing_ at the time was in the very frustrating realization that the enemy sorcerers were _still_ using their instant-brainwashing spell despite Arthur's hope that they had gotten tired of it.)

He was furious at the role he'd been forced to play, because as soon as he figured out why Merlin had been acting strangely, why he'd been acting out of character, Arthur had been unable to go after Morgana himself.

And most of all, he was furious at _Merlin_. At Merlin, for being such a bloody idiot and putting himself in the line of fire, for revealing himself to the enemy -- granted, the enemy wouldn't be doing any talking short of a miraculous from-the-ashes reincarnation, and for being so... so... frustratingly _Merlin_.

_"It weren't me," Merlin said, when Arthur pulled him close once they were in the safety of their room back at the house, wrapping his arms around Merlin with the shaky tremble of someone who'd nearly lost his sister. "I'm just useless. It was everyone else. They saved her, not me."_

Arthur hadn't known what to say to that. He still didn't know what to say. Merlin truly didn't know, didn't _realize_ the power he held. It made Arthur want to protect him even more.

Arthur was never going to get the image of Merlin out of his head. The way he'd stepped out from the safety of the cover they'd been hiding behind, completely _oblivious_ to the danger and the risk he was putting himself in. Merlin hadn't raised that shield, that... whatever it had been... to protect himself until he'd already saved Bohrs and Geraint and Galahad from the falling balcony and flung it at the orb that had been meant for Lance.

That shield had been beautiful, golden and transparent and _shimmering_ every time the enemy's bullets struck the surface.

Merlin had advanced with determination, as if he'd had a plan, which Arthur was fairly certain he hadn't, and it had looked to Arthur as if Merlin intended to use his shield to protect Morgana and Leon.

Then that shield, beautiful and golden and transparent -- it had _buckled_ under pressure, shattering like crystal, a billion tiny, glittering diamond shards suspended in the air before being washed away by that terrible ball of swirling magic and power that came _screaming_ toward Merlin.

And Merlin, the _bloody fucking idiot_ , hadn't moved out of the way.

Arthur had surged out into the alley, not knowing how he would ever be able to cross the distance between them in time, Gwaine screaming a warning, tackling Arthur and pulling him to the ground.

The ball had never touched Merlin. Merlin had caught it and sent it back at the sorcerers, had raised another shield, wide and broad to protect them all from the blast, containing it, bracing himself against the force that left him as beaten and as exhausted as any training session that Arthur had ever pushed him through.

 _"It weren't me,"_ Merlin had said.

If it hadn't been for Merlin, Arthur didn't know what they would have done. Three sorcerers. _Three_. And none of them using any magic that the Directory sorcerers had demonstrated.

"Merlin," Arthur whispered, brushing his fingers through Merlin's hair again. "It _were_ you."

Arthur reached for Merlin and touched the edges of a black eye that was growing more livid by the moment. A pang shot through him, hitting several levels of guilt at once. The team had forgiven Arthur with the simple bribe of free pizza and a raid of the beer stores. And yet, they wouldn't forgive Merlin for his secrets as easily.

Arthur sighed inwardly. The worst part of it was that he couldn't exactly be angry about the black eye. However merited, however earned, the black eye would help maintain their cover, because he was supposed to be a controlling pillock. This time, this once, he felt guilty relief that he wouldn't have to provide any evidence that he really was the bastard he was pretending to be. Bohrs had done it for him.

Merlin made a soft sound in his sleep. Arthur leaned down, lightly brushing a kiss on Merlin's forehead, and left the room slowly, quietly, shutting the door behind him.

Arthur went down the stairs, barely glancing at the gutted remnants of what had been several healthy pizza boxes on his kitchen island, and went into the living room, picking up his lukewarm India Pale Ale from the coffee table. He plopped down on the couch next to Leon, rested his elbow on the pile of pillows, and pinched the bridge of his nose.

"He's an idiot," Arthur said. It was the agreed-upon theme of the evening, but he couldn't help but need to say it out loud.

"That he is," Perceval agreed, taking a sip of his beer, never taking his eyes from the late night black-and-white showing of **The Curse Of Frankenstein** that someone had found on the telly.

"How is he?" Gwaine asked.

They were a smaller group, now, with most of the team drifting home. Lamorak and Bedivere lived a bit far, out on the citiy's fringes -- but had muttered under their breath about finding someplace closer to live, because the commute to Pendragon Consulting was a _pain_. Those who weren't on duty playing the part of Arthur's security team had to show up bright and early in the morning, but as one of the Vice-Presidents -- and one who was expected to act a certain way to maintain his cover, Arthur could come in whenever he liked. The others didn't have that luxury.

"Sleeping. Finally," Arthur said, dropping his hand. "It's probably the first time since Paris. He's had himself wound up, thinking he'd screwed up."

"He did," Owain said. "Don't blame him for it, but he kind of did. Should've told us, is all I'm saying."

"As far as I'm concerned, he saved Morgana --" Leon began.

"He saved all of us -- I thought our arses were cooked after the first couple of potshots," Gwaine said, making the sharp, whistling noise of a projectile flying past his head.

"-- and if he felt he had to keep it a secret from us, you know, I'm fine with it. He _saved_ Morgana," Leon said, nodding firmly, as if nothing could change his mind. "But he did mess up, Arthur. And so did you. If we'd known, we could've trained together, used his magic to our advantage --"

"You think I don't know that?" Arthur said tiredly. He swirled his beer; it foamed up a bit in the bottle. "You heard what he said about the Directory."

After the ice-breaker that had been Perceval's rabbit-in-a-hat joke -- _why, in fact, yes, I_ can _pull a rabbit out of a hat_ , Merlin had said, and demonstrated by turning Galahad's cap into a fabric bunny -- Merlin had, in halting detail, told them everything that he knew about the Directory.

It had left them chilled. There had been a lot that the team -- that Arthur didn't know, that they couldn't have known. How some of the recruited sorcerers had burned out because the Directory had pushed them too hard. How they were made to use magic and rituals that they had no business using. How, decades after they retired from the armed forces, had become parents and grandparents, the Directory _still_ called on them for missions, harassed and arrested their underage children and grandchildren under the pretext of investigating a crime, but secretly testing them for magic instead.

There were things, too, that Merlin hadn't told them, that he couldn't tell them. "You should talk to Gaius," Merlin had said. "I kind of didn't want to hear any more. But he knows."

It left a bad taste in Arthur's mouth, to know that Merlin's family was subjected to this kind of treatment. That anyone had been.

"I don't trust Bayard any more than you do, never mind the Directory. But if you knew, _before_ there was even a hint of us falling under the Directory, you should've known to tell us. We could've used any excuse to put in some tactical training --"

"I know, Leon," Arthur said. He paused to sip the IPL; lukewarm but not quite flat. "I know."

"His dick got in the way of his brain," Bohrs grunted, cracking open a fresh beer. "Anything to keep the girlfriend sweet on him."

Arthur raised two rude fingers in his direction. The problem was, Arthur wasn't so sure that Bohrs was wrong. He could convince himself that it wasn't true. Arthur had always done and would always do whatever he thought was best for his friends, for his team. He might break the rules. He might go further than he thought he ever would. But he knew he was lying when it came to Merlin. For _Merlin_ , the word _maybe_ wasn't on the radar.

He turned to look at Bohrs, because there was one thing he couldn't let stand.

"By the way, Bohrs, no offense and all. Don't take it personally. But you're fired."

"What? Why?" Bohrs' eyes were wide and round, not understanding. "Is this because I punched Merlin?"

"No. You should be up on charges for that, and you well know it. But you're fired, and that's because you _left_ him," Arthur said. He gave Bohrs his most dangerous stare until Bohrs withered and squirmed in his seat. "You know my rules. You know the consequences."

"I -- you can't -- I won't -- but --"

"What our Bohrs means to say," Gwaine said, stepping in with his usual grace, "Is that he's the biggest wanker in the universe of wankers, that there were extenuating circumstances, and that it's all sorted now, and won't you please give him another chance? He'll be perfectly happy to clean everyone's boots with his _tongue_ , if that's what it takes."

"Yes! What he said!" Bohrs pointed, but then jerked around to look at Gwaine, frowning. "Wait. What?"

Arthur let Bohrs stew for a second before sighing magnanimously. "Fine. You're not fired. But you're suspended for two days without pay for misconduct, and I want you reporting to the warehouse for those two days to sort out the inventory we shipped back from the base."

Bohrs glowered unhappily, but gave Arthur a half-hearted salute. "Yes, sir."

"Sucks to be you, mate," Owain said. Bohrs rolled his eyes.

"I don't get it," Kay said. He came back from the kitchen, tearing open a bag of buttered microwave popcorn, offering the contents to everyone in a quick, rushed sweep that didn't give anyone a chance to actually take some, and sat down between Gwaine and Perceval. "He's got all that power, but... he's terrified of us."

"Of course he is," Arthur said. "Do you blame him?"

"Kay's right. It doesn't make sense," Bohrs said. "He could stare at us cross-eyed and knock us all out."

"It makes perfect sense," Lance said, shaking his head. "Think about it this way. Before us, only four people knew about him, and one of them, his dad, is dead. Four people. And it's such a big secret that none of them can talk about it, not even among themselves. How many of us have a secret that they've had for that long, and never breathed a word of? Think about what it cost him, telling someone for the first time in his life. How much it must have meant to him, to finally be able to talk to someone about it. How hard it must have been to tell one person, never mind coming out to the rest of us the way he did."

No one said anything. Everyone was staring at their beer. Everyone except Arthur, who leaned his head back and stared at the ceiling. Until a few hours ago, he hadn't known that Merlin had so few people to rely on, so few people to share that part of himself with. He couldn't imagine going through life always checking himself, making sure that what he was doing wouldn't implicate himself in some way, all to protect everyone he cared about.

He felt like a heel. He hadn't even considered that.

Arthur rubbed his eyes and dropped his hand. If Merlin had been protecting himself and his family from the Directory by keeping his secret, did that mean that the Directory had always been watching Merlin's family? Or was it because Merlin's father had worked for them? Did that mean that Balinor Emrys had had magic, too?

 _Fuck, Merlin,_ Arthur thought, blinking his eyes rapidly, ignoring the tight squeeze in his chest. He thought he would burst under the weight of knowing that Merlin had chosen _him_ to tell.

"If he hasn't used it, not really, not since before uni," Perceval said slowly, thinking things through before speaking the way he always thought things through, "I'm wondering how much it took out of him to blow that lot to bits?"

Arthur tried not to think how weak Merlin had been when they'd returned to the house, how he'd struggled to stay with the others, offering his help, how his fingers could barely undo his tie, unbutton his shirt. How he'd been so cool, so pale, as if he'd used up all his energy to protect them.

And maybe he had.

Merlin had been exhausted that night and every night since then, but he wouldn't sleep, _couldn't_ sleep, because every time he tried, it was to wake up with a startled yelp. It was the same little, frightened yelp Merlin had made when he had staggered to his feet and realized that his friends were pointing their guns at him.

"How do you mean?" Leon asked.

"Finite amount of energy," Gwaine said, following Perceval's train of thought better than Arthur had. "Leastways, that's what they told us at the Directory, yeah?"

"You were actually listening at those lectures?" Owain asked.

"Yeah, fuck you too," Gwaine said. He yanked the bag of popcorn from Kay, reached in, and threw a couple of hard, unpopped kernels at Owain with sniper precision.

Perceval thumbed in Gwaine's direction. "Something like what he said, actually. The Professor -- whatever his name was... Professor D-something?"

"Dumbass?"

"Dickhead?"

"Dingbat?"

"Dickwad?"

"Douchebag?"

"Dipshit?"

"Doofus?"

Perceval glanced around the room. "Seriously? None of us remember his name?"

"Blame Merlin," Arthur said. He shook his head, shrugged, and chuckled helplessly. "He started it."

" _Anyway_ ," Perceval said, shifting in his seat. He put his beer on the coffee table and spread his hands. "It's like this. The Directory sorcerers they pitted us against? They threw shite at us quick and easy in the beginning, but the more they used it, the less power they had? Prof D -- let's just go with Prof D, yeah? He said that sorcerers, they're, well, limited. They only have so much. Some of them have more endurance because they practice, but they have to, you know, practice?"

Gwaine leaned forward. "I don't remember that. Where was I?"

"Sleeping, most like," Kay said.

"Definitely sleeping," Owain agreed.

"Snoring like a chainsaw," Leon added.

"Oh. Well, then. Carry on," Gwaine said, frowning slightly.

Perceval didn't say anything more, and it took Arthur a second before he realized that Perceval was staring at him. "What?"

"How was Merlin that night? I mean, after the thing in Paris?"

Bohrs choked on his beer. Lance thumped him in the back a few times. "I don't want to hear about them two --"

"I weren't talking about that, for fuck's sake --"

"If that's the first thing you think about... You sure you're not repressing something, mate?" Gwaine suggested, raising both brows with a twinkle of amusement.

"I'll repress something, all right," Bohrs threatened, pointing a finger in Gwaine's direction.

Perceval gave Gwaine and Bohrs a half-amused, half-annoyed look, and started again. "I was talking about --"

Arthur shook his head, closing his eyes, and Perceval trailed off, as if sensing how much Arthur didn't like to think about that night. Arthur sighed. "He was exhausted. Barely walking straight. Incoherent. He wasn't talking a lot of sense."

"That begs the question -- when does he ever talk sense --" Bohrs said. He trailed off when he saw the collective weight of everyone staring at him with something very close to _shut your mouth, or we'll do it for you_.

"You're not making Comedy Central, mate. Don't care how funny you think you are. Just. No. Stop while you're ahead," Gwaine said.

"That's my point," Perceval continued. "How strong is Merlin? Everything that he did, that was on him. He didn't stop to cast spells, he weren't muttering under his breath, he was completely _unprepared_ \--"

Lance nodded. "If he was casting, it was on the fly. I wasn't really paying attention. The only thing I saw were his eyes -- not like the other sorcerers at all, Directory or otherwise. They were bright gold."

"Gold. Yeah," Leon said. He turned to Arthur. "What does that mean?"

"I have no idea," Arthur admitted. "It's not exactly like we've had the time to chat, and when we've had the time --"

"Incoherent, babbling idiot?" Bohrs asked, wincing as soon as he said it.

"More like he ducks the question. I don't think he does it on purpose. Anti-interrogation and all that." Arthur paused. "It comes down to this. We know he has magic, but we don't know what he can do. No idea of his limits, no idea of his strength."

"Takes down three sorcerers in no time flat," Perceval said, tilting his head to the side, making a wavy motion with his hand. "I'd say that he's up there."

"Yeah," Arthur said without enthusiasm. He didn't fancy the idea of putting Merlin in the line of fire again, of relying on him when they were pinned down, not if watching Merlin collapse like that was the end result. The tactics his team had put together, that they'd practiced, running drills over and over until they had their timing down -- they _worked_ , but Arthur could already see how they would work _better_ with a bit of magic thrown into the mix. "We'll get him to show us, then. Leon, set up some training sessions this weekend. A secure warehouse somewhere, an open field in the middle of nowhere, maybe the lake house? Someplace where no one will see us and we can keep Merlin's magic a secret as long as we can."

The team had already sworn to keep Merlin's magic secret -- how couldn't they, when Merlin was trusting them with it? Merlin's relief at hearing the unanimous, spontaneous promise had crashed with all the force of a hundred-foot waterfall, pummelling and pounding, and if he hadn't been sitting down at the time, Arthur was sure that Merlin would have collapsed under its weight.

But his team was a practical bunch, and they knew that right now, they had the advantage, an ace in the hole, that last little hold-back weapon that the enemy wouldn't find even when they did a full-body pat-down. As long as no one knew about Merlin -- the NWO, the Directory, _anyone_ , they had the element of surprise.

"What about his uncle?" Kay asked. He shrugged when Arthur looked at him. "I mean, if his uncle has been training him, maybe we should involve him, too?"

"That's an idea," Arthur said, wishing he'd thought of it himself. "I'll call him in the morning."

Arthur put his empty beer bottle on the coffee table and leaned back again. On the plasmascreen, Frankenstein was looking ominous.

"So, on the one hand, we have a bunch of arms dealers who want to get their hands on Merlin to crack whatever it is that they want cracked. Aredian approached him and hinted along the lines that he'd like to acquire Merlin as if he were some new trophy head he wanted to mount on his wall. We've got the NWO _interested_ in him because they figure, well, he's the right age, he's got the right profile, he'd fit right in because he's Pagan and friends with some of them. Merlin took a look at the code they've been sending him to work on, and he thinks they're putting together some sort of virus, but he won't know more until he gets the whole picture."

Everyone nodded grimly. That was about the sum of it.

"On the other hand," Arthur said, looking at Leon, "We've got Morgana."

Leon's lips pressed together in something like disgust, and he shook his head. "Don't look at me. She's your sister."

"She's your wife," Gwaine said.

"Not yet," Leon said.

"Might as well be at this rate. If you're waiting for Morgana to get down on bended knee --"

"Shut up, Gwaine."

"-- might not have that long of a wait," Gwaine finished, shrugging. "I'm just saying."

The silence stretched, and Arthur asked, "Has she said anything?"

"No. She says that she doesn't remember anything. One minute she's going to the Ladies' with this woman, whom she'd never met before that night; the next, she's in an alley, and people are _shooting_ at her, and she can't see what's going on because I'm in the way."

"So, same story she gave us," Gwaine said.

"Exact same," Leon said, scratching his cheek in frustration. "I tried to push, but… When she's like this, I don't know if she's telling the truth or blowing me off because she doesn't know how to deal with it. She'll tell me when she remembers and when she can, but not before. You know what she's like."

"Oh, yeah," Owain said, cringing a little.

"Who's with her now?" Gwaine asked.

"Girl's night. Spa night," Leon said with a helpless shrug. "She told me to butt out. Between Gwen and the other women she's with, I don't half pity the plonker who tries to grab her tonight."

Leon's tone of voice was casual, flippant, without trace of concern or worry, but the way he was gripping the beer bottle, rubbing the stubble on his chin, staring at a fixed point in the distance that wasn't anywhere in this room, Arthur could tell that Leon was anxious. That, plus he'd been checking his phone every half hour -- apparently Morgana had agreed to text him in regular intervals.

He gave Leon massive points for having managed that.

"Two of them are police, one of them is on the security team at Pendragon," Leon said. "And then there's Gwen."

"She'll watch Morgana like a hawk. I wanted her to bring a bigger gun," Lance said, looking a little despondent, "But she said no. Something about being naked and in a towel and _where_ would she put it?"

"Well," Gwaine started.

"Don't," Lance said, holding out his hand. "Just don't. That's my wife here."

"I weren't -- I wasn't," Gwaine sputtered, trying for innocence.

"We all know you were," Perceval said, reaching over Kay's shoulders to flick Gwaine's head with a finger.

"Uther wants to arrange security for Morgana. He'll send me some files to look over, told me to pick whoever looks the best." Leon paused, and nodded at Arthur. "Any word on who that woman was? The rugby player?"

"No. Bayard is working on it. Olaf might get results faster, but I don't know." Arthur rubbed his face. He knew his sister better than Leon did -- and he could weather her temper only because he had a refuge. Leon had to live with her. He'd give her time to sort herself out in her own head, but they needed answers, and soon. "If Morgana doesn't tell you anything in the next few days, you tell me straightaway, yeah? I'll talk to her."

 

ooOOoo

 

It was a slow, drowsy struggle to wake up. His body was insisting that it needed to keep sleeping to recoup whatever sleep it had missed out on over the last week or so, and that it had better do it now before the brain started overthinking things and got in the way of the pursuit of leisure _again_. Strainge, warm sensations were working their way up his spine until they'd reached the back of his neck. Merlin idly swatted the air, his arm trapped in a tangle of blankets. There was another strange, warm sensation on the inside of his thighs, but it was _pleasant_ , and it wasn't tickling him like the other one.

Ah -- a reprieve. The fluttering sensations faded, and Merlin dropped his arm, sighing softly, shifting into a more comfortable position while simultaneously trying not to dislodge the warmth on his inner thighs. Turning onto his side and curling up was bad, he learned; the warmth pulled away. If he half-twisted onto his belly, his legs a bit apart, the warmth returned, stroking gently, but it teased, and Merlin was too groggy to put up much of a fight or voice a complaint against _teasing_. He rolled onto his stomach -- _that_ was better, because that nice, comfortable, teasing warmth guided one leg a bit askew, lingered against his arse, and ran down the other.

Merlin mumbled, "That's nice," but it might have come out as a nonsensical noise half-muffled by the weight of blankets over his head, because suddenly he was cold and chilled. He felt around for the blankets, but they were out of reach. "'S cold."

There was a slide, a shift, and the warmth stroking his legs spread, becoming a big, wonderful blob of heat against his back. Merlin liked that, it was comforting, heavy and more substantial. He stopped tugging at the blankets and resumed lazily swatting the air, because that infernal tickling resumed, this time concentrating on the back of his neck and his shoulders.

"G'way," Merlin grumbled, still waving his hand in the air, but frustratingly failing to make contact with whatever it was that was doing its best to wake him up. "'M trying to sleep."

At right that moment, the warmth between his legs moved to the crack of his arse, rubbing up and down, up and down, coming infuriatingly close, but not close enough, to the spot that really would like to be touched right now. Merlin shifted, and if he spread his legs a bit wider to enjoy whatever it was that was teasing him to the point where he was getting so hard, he might just _poke a hole through the mattress_ , it wasn't his fault. As far as he was concerned, it was a nice dream, and he was still sleeping.

Also, his earlier complaint about _trying to sleep_ became a rather strangled, completely telling moan, but that could be construed as a sleep-induced invitation for more, couldn't it?

That irritating (but still somehow lovely) sensation fluttering its way across his shoulders and neck and back again had ceased, and the warmth enveloped his back more completely. There was a short, husky laugh, a breath against his ear, and Arthur whispered, "Do you want me to let you sleep?"

Maybe Merlin had been more coherent than he'd thought, which was a surprise, but between Arthur's finger brushing that sensitive spot between his scrotum and his anus and, more importantly, _that tone of his voice_ , Merlin's response came out a strangled "Yynnnngghh."

It only made Arthur laugh more, and, damn it, also encouraged him to continue stroking that spot. Merlin shifted slightly and unashamedly stuck his bum up, trying to guide Arthur's hand and fingers where he _really_ wanted them to be. Arthur obliged, but only for what didn't seem like _nearly long enough_ , and Merlin made a soft sound of protest.

It was only soft because it was muffled by the pillow.

Arthur's hand repositioned itself on Merlin's hip, pulling him -- _rolling_ Merlin against Arthur, back to stomach, and there was a slight shift of weight besides him before Merlin felt the very telling hardness of Arthur's erection in the crack of his arse. Arthur's hand slipped from Merlin's hip to wrap around Merlin's cock, stroking lazily.

"Good morning, _Mer_ lin," Arthur whispered, and the infernal, teasing, _delicious_ kissing resumed. Merlin did not buck his hips into Arthur's hand; he did not turn his head to answer Arthur's greeting with a sloppy kiss that missed lips but caught the line of Arthur's jaw; and, most importantly, he did not reach behind himself to rub Arthur's cock.

And mainly, he didn't do those things because Arthur stopped stroking him to put a firm hand on Merlin's hip, and, because Arthur pulled away with a chuckle and caught his lips in a quick, hot kiss, and because Arthur caught his arm and guided it up over his head, with a soft, tsking sound and a deep, grumbled " _Let me._ "

"Arthur," Merlin complained, but all voiced complaints went the way of the dodo bird, because Arthur's hand ran down his side, bumping over his ribs, sliding over his hipbone, drifting down his thigh to catch the crook of his knee, manipulating him into another position. The complaint became an agreeable moan, and Merlin's hands fisted the bedcover under his pillow.

"You're on my side of the bed," Arthur remarked.

"And what are you going to do about it?" Merlin tried to ask, but it came out in a strained whine of _ohmygodtouchmethereagain_ that Arthur apparently understood, because he not only obliged the request, but showed Merlin just what he was going to do about the fact that Merlin was on his side of the bed.

Arthur's finger pushed in a little bit, teasing. Again. And again. And again. It was a repetition that made Merlin bite the pillow.

Arthur smacked his butt, lightly, sharp enough to sting, but not sharp enough to wake Merlin up all the way. "Stop that. I want to hear you."

" _They'll_ hear us," Merlin mumbled, because he was a little confused, not entirely sure if they were at the base barracks or the Directory's dormitory, or if they were at Arthur's flat, with the rest of the team still downstairs, drinking beer and ravaging the rest of the pizza.

The bed was nice and soft, so it _must_ be Arthur's flat. He cracked an eye open and instantly regretted it. It was daylight, so that meant that there might just not be anyone downstairs, listening to every single one of Merlin's needy little moans. Maybe.

"The door's closed," Arthur whispered, nibbling Merlin's ear, and if that didn't rob him of coherent thought for a good few minutes, he _just didn't know._

"'M _loud_ ," Merlin said, his hand drifting down to... to... he didn't know what his hand was doing, but it wasn't going to stop Arthur from doing what he was doing now because, honestly, he really _was_ loud.

"Good," Arthur said with a chuckle. Then, warningly, "Put your hands over your head, _Mer_ lin."

Merlin complied, still complaining, "But..."

His hips, however, didn't have any such objections, because he was grinding back, trying to get _more_ of Arthur's fingers in than just those annoyingly teasing millimetres.

"Use your magic, then. Like you did in the dorms. Make it go quiet everywhere," Arthur whispered, licking the shell of Merlin's ear in such a distracting way that Merlin _shuddered_ , from the top of his head all the way to his toes. Somewhere in there, Arthur's finger managed to slip in a little _deeper_ , erasing the last of Merlin's coherence.

"Fuck, _Arthur_ ," Merlin mumbled, a little delirious.

"That's what I'm trying to do," Arthur said with a low chuckle, drawing his hand from Merlin gently, gently, so gently that Merlin only noticed after the fact, after Arthur ran another distracting lick along the very edge of Merlin's ear.

There was a light weight pushing Merlin down, but only a little, keeping him in place. There was a shadow that passed over him, the sound of a drawer opening and closing, the crinkle of foil, the creaky pop of something opening.

And nothing.

And then everything.

Slick fingers rubbed around his hole, making certain he was good and slick. Merlin could have come from that alone, but Arthur bit his shoulder gently, distracting him. There was a slight push, a bit of pressure, one finger slipping in.

"I want to hear you, Merlin," Arthur whispered, and Merlin stopped trying to muffle himself in the pillow. It wasn't as if he had any choice. Arthur yanked the pillow out from under him and moved it away.

A second finger teased around the entrance, scissoring in slowly, taking all the bloody time in the world to loosen Merlin, and all the bloody time in the world was too damn long. He shifted his body slowly, trying to get some friction on his cock while simultaneously pressing deeper against Arthur's fingers.

"So needy," Arthur whispered, pressing lips behind Merlin's ear, down his throat, to the small indentation of his shoulder. "So loud for me, Merlin."

Merlin felt his cheeks flush warm with embarrassment, but all thoughts of trying to be _quiet_ disappeared when a third finger slid in. He started to reach down, because his cock _ached_ , but as soon as he did, Arthur's fingers ceased their lovely in-out motion.

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur warned, a slight tint of desperation in his voice. Merlin struggled, resisting the urge to touch himself, to bring himself off, and pushed his arm up again. Arthur made a soft, pleased sound, and his fingers resumed their motion once more, twice, then three times, each shallower than the last, before slipping out entirely.

There was another slight crackle of foil, the sound of something tearing, a shift of hips and a startling absence of warmth at Merlin's side. A rustle of motion, a shift, a tiny adjustment, the slide of Arthur's arm under Merlin, wrapping around his chest. Arthur's other hand on Merlin's hip again, pulling and pushing Merlin, shoving him the way he wanted, and Merlin held his breath for a second, knowing, needing, trying to resist pushing back, because this, _this_ was right fucking sexy.

There was a pressure against him, a small hesitation that lasted just long enough for Merlin to bite his lower lip, and a slow, slow push that forced a loud gasp from him. Arthur's fingers gripped his hip, holding Merlin in place, pinning him, stopping the little hitch of Merlin's hips that was trying to make Arthur _hurry_.

"Be patient," Arthur said, and Merlin was gratified that it wasn't easy for him to say. He sound strained from trying to be patient himself. There was a torturous withdraw, and equally maddening thrust, a snail's pace of fucking that shattered Merlin and left his throat raw and dry from trying to urge Arthur on.

" _Please_ , Arthur," Merlin begged. The small, tiny, helpless plead must be working this time, because the next thrust was hard and deep and robbed Merlin of what was left of his voice. It was three more thrusts like that before Arthur's hand left his hip to stroke Merlin's cock, stripping him at a ragged rhythm that was so out of synch with Arthur's pounding that he came in a blinding climax after only a few pulls.

Arthur continued to stroke him, prolonging the orgasm until he was almost painfully sensitive and it seemed that he came again, feeling Arthur's cock pulse into him.

Hot, heavy breaths washed down Merlin's throat. Arthur's arms grounded him, but Arthur was trembling just as much as he was.

They stayed like that until their heart rates slowed, their breathing calmed, the sweat on their skin cooled and dried. Arthur's hand rubbed Merlin's hip, absentmindedly drawing circles over the sorest spots, either to lure bruises to the surface or to trace those already there. The shrill blare of the bedside alarm clock made them both jerk, startled, and Merlin reached out wildly, muttering, "I'm awake, I'm awake."

He was still too far to hit the snooze button.

Arthur slipped out of Merlin with something of a snarl. He reached up and over Merlin and clubbed the alarm clock a couple of times until it stopped. Once he was convinced that the clock wouldn't go off again, he settled around Merlin.

"Shite. That could give someone a heart attack," Merlin muttered. Arthur didn't answer him, but after a second, Merlin felt small huffs of breath on his spine that might just be suppressed laugher.

Merlin chuckled.

Arthur laughed a bit louder. So did Merlin. They stopped laughing long enough to catch their breath again before Merlin shoved Arthur onto his back to settle against him, propping his chin up on his palm. The movement jarred something painful, and he remembered, too late, Bohrs' fist flying at his face.

If the morning sex and the alarm clock of the Living Dead hadn't done its job to wake him up, the dull throb around his left temple took care of whatever lingering remnants of sleep were left.

"Ow." Merlin touched his face with a few light touches, grimacing each time. "I guess I deserved this."

Arthur stared down at Merlin through the pale flutter of lidded eyes, his eyebrow raised a little, his lips curled into something resembling distaste. Merlin closed his eyes when Arthur reached up to trace what felt like the edges of the bruise, his touch gentler than Merlin's had been, and he heard a quiet, possessive, "No, you don't."

Merlin didn't answer. He put his head on Arthur's shoulder.

He deserved it, even if Arthur didn't think so. If Merlin were being honest, he probably deserved _worse_. He still couldn't believe that he'd stood there and told the team his life's story in more detail than he had told anyone ever before, and they'd _listened_. That after Perceval's _pulling a rabbit out of a hat_ crack, the mood had broken, and he'd answered more questions about his magic than he'd even suspected someone would have in the first place. That, after a short while, once the adrenaline wore off, Merlin realized that their conversation had returned to its more normal state -- bitching about the newest players on the footie teams, moaning about having to return to the routine of a regular nine-to-five job, and griping about people who didn't understand that, yes, being in the armed forces _really did mean that they weren't stupid_.

Merlin's memory of the last night lingered in the strange and off-kilter, and a sick feeling settled in his belly, contracting his chest, forcing him to take small, shallow breaths.

Arthur's fingers brushed through his hair. "Are you hyperventilating?"

Merlin froze, his eyes as round as the proverbial deer in the headlights in the middle of the road in the pitch black of a winter night in a blizzard storming down in the region of God's Arse-End of Nowhere, holding his breath until he saw black spots competing with bright white sparks of _breathe, you idiot_. "No?"

"For fuck's sake, Merlin," Arthur said. His voice was calm, not a trace of anger in it, though if Merlin listened really hard, he thought maybe there was some aggravation in there somewhere. "It was a surprise, all right? It still is. They need to get used to it, to sort it out in their heads."

"I know, it's just..."

" _It's just_ ," Arthur mimicked. He cuffed the top of Merlin's head lightly. "Don't think the worst of them when you know damn well you'll get their best. Give it time, yeah? Let's be honest here. The whole image of _you_ as a sorcerer is kind of ridiculous."

"Yeah. I suppose you're right. Hey. Wait. Why is it ridiculous?" Merlin twisted around. Arthur's lips were curled into a smirk and a spark of amusement in Arthur's eyes that most certainly _didn't_ make Merlin melt a little. He thought it was rather unfair that Arthur could have this effect on him this early in the morning.

"You have to ask?" Arthur said, raising an imperial brow. "You're like the poster boy for _wouldn't hurt a fly_. You couldn't even be arsed to tell Gilli where to shove the Crack Box every time he came to you for help. You let yourself _almost die_ in Algiers. Your bursting on the scene like some bad-ass gunslinger -- sorry, _spell-slinger_ , that's kind of like finding out that arrogant little prick Bruce Wayne is _I'll-beat-your-ass_ Batman."

Merlin snorted, but he couldn't help a little smile at being compared to Batman.

Arthur nudged him. "You know I'm right."

"If I say yes, it'll just go to your head, and I am _not_ feeding your ego," Merlin muttered, low and grumbling, because _unfortunately_ , Arthur had a point. He turned away and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest, dragging the blanket along with him, curling one arm around his knees and rubbing his face -- carefully -- with the other. There was a long silence between them, Merlin covering his uncertainty, his anxiety, by trying to smooth down what was probably a hideous case of bed hair.

"Look. I can't imagine what it's like for you right now, going from having this huge secret that you never told anyone about to suddenly having all these people know," Arthur said after a long silence, shifting to sit up next to Merlin, his hand warm on Merlin's back. "But stop being a bloody girl. They're your mates. Much as I wish we'd gone about telling them in a completely different way, maybe something with a little less shock factor, it's done now, and there isn't anything we can do about it except keep going. It'll sort itself in the end. Just wait."

Merlin turned his head to study Arthur's profile. "You keep saying _we_."

"And I'll keep saying _we_ , _Mer_ lin." Arthur half-climbed out of bed, leaning in to plant a quick, hard kiss on Merlin's lips. "The sooner you realize that you're not in this alone, the sooner we can get on with _us._ "

Merlin wasn't sure what robbed him of speech more -- the second, sudden kiss, the equally sudden void when Arthur vanished to the bathroom, or the weight of Arthur's words.

_Us._

Merlin grinned like a bloody fucking idiot. He cursed inwardly. Maybe he _was_ the girl in the relationship.

He rubbed his face again, and this time he was too rough, because his face _hurt_. He knew that it would definitely have hurt a lot more if Bohrs hadn't pulled his punch -- he made a mental note to thank him for being considerate.

After a few minutes of absorbing in what little warmth Arthur had left behind in the bed, Merlin found a pair of Arthur's flannel pants, put them on, and wiped up the smear of come from his belly and as much as he could from the wet spot on the mattress with a discarded T-shirt. He tossed the shirt in the laundry basket and headed to the bathroom to see the damage for himself.

It wasn't as bad as it felt, but not even an inch-thick slather of concealer -- not that he'd _wear_ that shite -- or the biggest sunglasses at the market would cover it up. The black eye was a little swollen around the bone, radiating like a black sun with a green and purple corona. There were still bags under his eyes, his cheeks were a bit sunken, and he looked this side shy of the grave, but at least he was alive.

He glanced at Arthur in the shower, his body a seductive image behind the frosted glass.

At least they were _all_ alive. That was what mattered.

The water shut off, the door slid open, and Merlin tossed Arthur a plush white towel, trying not to stare too much at the mouth-watering nakedness of him, water clinging to his skin, running rivulets over every lean muscle on his body.

"You're looking better. Getting your colour back. You're even feeling warm," Arthur said, stepping out of the shower and wrapping the towel around his waist. Fresh-washed and even fresh-shaved, Merlin resisted the temptation to drag Arthur back to bed. "Is that normal? I mean. After the attack, you looked like a bloody ghost."

 _I thought I was going to lose you,_ Merlin heard in Arthur's voice. He crossed his arms, guilty and chastised.

"It's happened before," Merlin admitted, shrugging a shoulder. "When I've done too much. I'm not used to it."

Arthur stared at him thoughtfully in the mirror before reaching for his toothbrush. "Have you ever done anything like that before?"

"No. Not like that." Merlin paused, not sure how to explain it. "Remember the sniper mission with Gwaine? When the missile blew the transport and nearly took O with it? It was like that. Except different."

"Was it harder this time?" Arthur squeezed out a dab toothpaste -- Merlin had noticed a long time ago that Arthur hated the lingering taste of toothpaste and never used very much if he could help it.

He had noticed a lot of things about Arthur in the last few months, and this one made him smile.

"No. It's never hard, not exactly. Tiring, more like. It's..." Merlin hesitated, leaning back against the wall, crossing his arms over his chest. He saw Arthur follow the movement, his eyes drifting down to the tattoo on his side. "It's, um. The last time we were on R&R, I told Uncle Gaius that we were going against sorcerers. So I'd go to see him, and he'd haul me to a field to practice deflections, casting shields, that sort of thing."

Merlin lowered his head; Arthur spat out the toothpaste foam, rinsing his mouth with what looked to be a litre of water. "And?"

"In the beginning, I barely lasted five minutes," Merlin said with a chuckle. "Flat on my ass like I'd gone and run a double marathon. But every other time we worked on it, I could do it longer, faster, handle more of it at once."

"So Perce was right," Arthur mused, leaning into the mirror to study something on his face that Merlin couldn't see. There were times that Arthur could be a little vain. It amused him.

"Right about what?"

"He figures that if you haven't really been using your magic since before uni, you're probably out of practice. Kind of like over-training at the gym, like those dumb blokes who fancy they can lift a hundred pounds right out of the starting gate, and you don't see them again because they went and tore a ligament or something," Arthur said. He cracked open a drawer and started taking out a few toiletries. Merlin knew Arthur's routine by heart. He'd watched Arthur do it often enough on base, when _hopefully_ no one had caught him staring.

"You were talking about me?" Merlin raised a brow, a little uncertain.

"'Course we were talking about you. We all agree that you're a bit of an idiot," Arthur said, glancing at him in the mirror. He paused. "You have any idea of how much you can handle?"

Merlin shook his head and shrugged. "Never had cause to find out, did I? Besides everything I could do before uni -- I can still do it. It's just, what I did in the alley, that's a different magic altogether. It's not like there's much _call_ for a bulletproof shield or a missile blast shield or anything like that, Arthur."

Arthur half-turned to glance at him over his shoulder. "We were in a _war_ , Merlin."

"So?" Merlin winced. "Right. Yeah. I suppose we could've used it then."

"You suppose?" Arthur asked, raising a brow.

Merlin rolled his eyes.

Arthur smirked. "What else can you do then?"

"Whatever I could get away with. Make things roll off the teacher's desk. Have all the chalk go missing. Maybe the blackboard eraser wouldn't erase. All the stupid quizzes and tests -- vanished them completely. That was when I were really little, though, I had to stop it or I was going to get caught. The spanking I got from Mum after she heard one of my teachers was _convinced_ that the classroom was haunted by a poltergeist... Never going to forget that one."

Arthur barked a short laugh.

"Weren't funny, my bum was red for weeks," Merlin complained.

Arthur's expression changed, but Merlin didn't catch on until he heard the soft rumble in Arthur's voice. "I could make sure your bum's red for weeks."

Merlin's cheeks flushed. He tilted his head, eyeing Arthur up and down in a way that Arthur couldn't _possibly_ mistake. He grinned and suggested, "Could start now."

He used a tiny tendril of magic to pull Arthur's towel off.

Arthur startled and made a small, startled sound before yanking the towel from where it floated in the air between them. "Oi! I'm late enough as it is. Get out!"

Merlin was manhandled out of the bathroom, the door slamming shut behind him.

 

ooOOoo

 

When Arthur had called Gaius and engaged in superfluous conversation that was a thin veil for _I know about Merlin's magic_ , _that you're involved in training him to use it_ , and _I'd like you to resume this training, but this time would you mind including the rest of the team as well_ , Gaius hadn't known what to think. It was certainly not made any easier by hints that Merlin was not in a good state of mind, and that the arrangement should be kept from Merlin -- at least for the moment -- until he had recovered from some sort of incident.

Whatever that incident had been. Arthur had mentioned Paris, and Gaius had not liked what he had seen when he checked the latest headlines from _Le Monde_.

It was only with a good deal of _sang-froid_ that Gaius refrained from calling Hunith to find out if she'd heard anything from Merlin recently, and to oh-so-casually ask if she knew how he was.

That approach required a great deal of very careful tap-dancing, because Hunith was like a shark scenting a minuscule drop of blood in the water if she ever caught hint that something might be wrong with Merlin. Gaius had been forced to refine such delicate tactics years ago, after he'd received a phone call from Will when the boys were in university. As was Will's usual manner, the phone call was just a _"Heads up that Merlin is in the hospital, that he got beat up by some toffs who have a problem with poofs, but he's_ all right _and not to worry."_

Passing on the message to Hunith had been tantamount to courting disaster and a murder spree at the same time, because Hunith was prone to _overreacting_ a little. Not only had Gaius' hearing never quite recovered from Hunith's high-pitched howl of rage that someone had _hurt her baby boy_ , but it had taken Gaius months to get his kitchen restored the way he liked it after Hunith had taken over his house in a baking frenzy.

The little fishing expedition with Hunith hadn't proven fruitful, and Gaius had to reassure himself with the simple thought that, if there truly was a problem with Merlin, that Arthur would have told him straight away.

Gaius wasn't certain how he managed to refrain from mentioning anything to Merlin about the upcoming training session when Merlin had called the following day, casually discovering for himself that Merlin really was all right. Merlin had sounded _exhausted_ , the way he'd been exhausted for months after that horrible time when the army brought him home after the explosion that had killed most of his team. It was a dreadful thing to think about, even now, these years later, because Gaius couldn't help but hope that what had happened in the last few weeks since he'd last spoken to Merlin had been nothing of the sort.

His worry had abated only when Merlin answered Gaius' _and are they keeping you busy_ with _no, not really, Arthur's making sure that I eat and sleep and I feel like a giant slug_. He'd hung up, pleased to know that, whatever had happened, Merlin was being properly taken care of, and by the most surprising of people.

Or, perhaps, not so surprising.

Well, it seemed as if the team knew about Merlin's magic, now. Gaius wondered how that came about. He knew that Merlin had never told anyone about his magic before. Even his best friend, Will, had learned about the magic by complete and utter accident. Fortunately, _that_ particular revelation had occurred when they were both very young, and Will had immediately understood the importance of keeping Merlin's secret. Gaius could only hope that the members of team Excalibur would feel the same way.

Gaius had picked up on Merlin's growing affection for Arthur from the little things that Merlin would let slip in their phone calls. Taken alone, every mention of Arthur as an _arrogant arse_ , a _complete, utter prat_ , and _a gigantic clotpole_ would mean very little beyond fuelling the nagging fear that Merlin's new Captain was another Cedric Walsh, but when conversation about Arthur also softened Merlin's tone to something approaching adoration, it wasn't difficult to see that Merlin was in love.

Perhaps as a direct result of that love, Merlin had finally told Arthur about his magic. But how had Arthur taken the news? What of the rest of the team?

Gaius imagined that he was about to find out how the team felt about Merlin's magic when the car pulled into the driveway.

Arthur had said that he would send someone to drive Gaius to the training site, but Gaius had been expecting a soldier, not an underwear model. He was tall, muscular, and well-built the way a soldier was tall, muscular and well-built, with an added extra helping of too-handsome-mixed-heritage-heavy-on-the-Spanish that made Gaius wonder how _this_ wasn't Merlin's Arthur.

It might have something to do with Guinevere. In the short amount of time that he had known her, working weekends on small, special projects -- the young woman had a talent for robotics, and was fascinated with Gaius' work with animated toys, Gaius had gotten to know Lance quite well, all without meeting the man.

"I'm Lance Dulac," the man said, reaching out to shake Gaius' hand. "You must be Merlin's uncle?"

"I am. I recognize you from Guinevere's photographs," Gaius said, noting the wedding band on Lance's finger. Lance's smile was small, genuine, even a little shy, but there was nothing but forthrightness and honesty in the man's gaze.

"I don't want to rush you, but we really should get going. It's a bit of a drive," Lance explained. "Arthur said you'd be bringing an overnight bag?"

"I have it here," Gaius said, gesturing to the small bag nearby. His hand went from the bag to the equipment he'd disassembled and put in smaller boxes for easier transport. "I brought some of the training tools that I've been using on Merlin as well. Is there room in your car, or shall I follow in my van?"

Lance glanced past Gaius, taking in the small pile. His face took on a measuring, calculating look before he studied his car. He hesitated for a brief moment before grinning. "I'll make it fit. Give me a moment."

The "moment" lasted nearly twenty minutes, but every piece of equipment -- including two extra bags that Gaius remembered at the last minute -- were packed in the trunk and back seat of the car. They were on the road, heading north, before either of them said anything more.

"To be honest, Arthur asked me to make sure you didn't try to come on your own. He's being careful about this," Lance said. "You didn't mention to anyone that you were heading out for the day?"

"Not at all," Gaius said. "I did ask the neighbour boy to hold my newspaper today and to deliver it tomorrow. Would that be a problem?"

"No, I doubt it. People do that for all sorts of reasons," Lance said, but Gaius didn't miss the fleeting glance of concern Lance sent the rear-view mirror, taking an accounting of whoever was behind them.

"You mentioned that Arthur was being careful about _this_. What exactly is _this_ ," Gaius asked.

"Merlin," Lance answered without hesitation, taking his eyes off the road long enough to make it clear what he meant. "Merlin's magic. We know about it."

"Ah," Gaius said, and the silence lingered between them until they'd left London fifteen minutes behind them. "Perhaps you should tell me how."

"Well, it's all. Um." Lance glanced in the rear-view mirror again, falling silent for several minutes before relaxing. Gaius looked over his shoulder before frowning. Lance gave him a small smile. "I'm supposed to keep an eye out for anyone who might be watching us."

"And whom might that be?"

"Anybody," Lance said. He must have seen something in Gaius' expression, because he sighed. "How about I start from the beginning?"

"Please do," Gaius said.

"Merlin told Arthur first," Lance said. "Right before we were seconded to the Directory. The rest of us, we didn't find out until later, on a recon mission in Paris."

"What happened in Paris?"

"I can't say much about it," Lance admitted, and Gaius nodded in understanding. "But if I were to put it plain, the rest of us found out about Merlin's magic while he was using it to save our arses. Some of us owe him our lives. Probably all of us, to be fair."

"That does sound like Merlin," Gaius said with a soft chuckle, tilting his head to study Lance's expression. He was relieved to see that there was no tension, no anger, no fear, but that didn't mean that, perhaps, it wasn't well hidden, or that the other members of the team might be harbouring such feelings themselves. "How did the team take it? Learning of Merlin's magic?"

The silence that followed couldn't be explained only by Lance's vigilance against a tail.

"I'll be honest," Lance said finally, "Those of us who saw him in action the first time, we were surprised. Actually, that's probably putting it mildly. I can't speak for the others, but I was shocked. I lost all my wits in that second. I didn't..."

He trailed off, and there was a flash of emotion that Gaius did not immediately recognize. It took the press of lips, the downward glance, the tightening of white-knuckled fingers around the steering wheel for Gaius to see the shame that clung to Lance like an uncomfortable second skin. Whatever happened next was too difficult to be talked about.

"I'd never seen someone so shattered before," Lance said, his voice distant, and Gaius wondered at his words, at the tone.

"Merlin?"

"Yeah," Lance said, his voice stuttering. "Yeah."

Gaius chose not to press. He watched the road signs rush past them one by one until the town names and the signs for rest stops and gas stations blurred together. There weren't as many cars on the road anymore, and those that were there were few and far in between the lorries transporting supplies.

"The only one who didn't hesitate was Arthur. While the rest of us stood around being stupid, Arthur got between us and Merlin," Lance said, his voice quiet. He glanced at Gaius. "I thought you should know that."

The understanding of what might have happened dawned on Gaius in that moment, and he nodded slowly. Since Merlin was a baby, Gaius had worried about what would happen should people learn about Merlin's abilities, but it seemed that if not for Arthur, the team would have done what they themselves feared the most. They would have harmed one of their own.

"And now?" Gaius asked gently.

"I don't know. I don't think anything has changed. I mean, sure, he has magic, but..." Lance's lips pressed together and there was a pinch of his forehead as he struggled to come up with words for what he was thinking. "It's _Merlin_."

"Yes," Gaius said with a soft chuckle. He nodded to himself, half in agreement, half in satisfaction. "It's Merlin."

The rest of the drive was spent in alternating degrees of silence, of Lance talking about Gwen, of the projects that she was working on with Gaius in her free time, when she wasn't working at Pendragon R&D. "By the way, you realize that Merlin's modifying the little UAV the two of you built for him," Lance said.

"I'm wouldn't be surprised. When it comes to certain things, he can't help himself," Gaius said, watching as they pulled off the main road, onto an unmarked dirt patch, and lumbered over a path that might not have been meant to be driven on. They pulled up into a field with several other cars; someone had set up a staging area, complete with a tent providing shelter from the wind. Up ahead, further on, was a house overlooking a small lake.

There was a quick round of introductions -- introductions that were unnecessary as Gaius could identify them all from Merlin's descriptions, from Perceval's broad shoulders and calm demeanour to Gwaine's flippant, down-to-earth, easy-going attitude. The whirlwind tour had been quick and short, but before Gaius could turn to the more pressing task of unloading the car and unpacking the contents, the team had already finished the task. He started to give instructions, only to stop at Owain's bemused expression.

"Well, you gentlemen seem to have everything under control," Gaius said, and he looked around. "Would Merlin and Arthur have arrived yet?"

"First to arrive. They should be up near the house," Bohrs said.

Gaius started to head in that direction when Bohrs stopped him with a soft touch on his shoulder. "Um. I don't want you to get any wrong ideas about Arthur. But Merlin has a black eye -- and that's. Well. I'm the one who did it."

"You..." Gaius raised a brow, then promptly frowned, taking an accusing step forward. "You're not covering for Arthur, are you?"

"Oh, hell, no. I'd never stick my neck out for him like that, not with his in-laws," Bohrs said, grinning in a way that Gaius didn't quite understand until the phrase _in-laws_ sank in. "But, really. It were me. I was a bit mad, you understand? I mean, all this time with Merlin, and him not saying anything about the..."

Bohrs wriggled his fingers in the air in a way Gaius supposed meant Merlin's magic. Gaius' eyes narrowed for a moment, and he raised a doubtful brow. "I see. And will you be doing it again?"

Bohrs held up both of his hands. "Oh, no. Absolutely not. I got it out of my system the first time, didn't I? And besides, Arthur would flay me alive if I had another go."

"Very nearly had," Lamorak said, walking past.

Gaius gave Bohrs a very stern nod that left the larger man pale-faced and apologetic, and he continued to head up the road. Once out of earshot, he chuckled to himself. The more he heard about this Arthur, the more he decided that he liked the man.

Gaius walked around the bend and spotted Lance and Leon unloading a van, the two of them pulling equipment out of gear bags. There was another man further up, leaning against a dark maroon BMW, his blond hair ruffled, his jacket draped over the hood of the car. The cuffs of his trousers and his patent leather shoes were soiled from the mud, but he seemed less irritated by that than frustrated by the fact that he couldn't seem to get into his car.

"Arthur!" Lance called out. The man turned around, saw Gaius approaching, and sighed as if collecting himself before walking over. Arthur shot a backward glance at the car, and Gaius spotted the problem: Merlin, sitting in the front passenger seat, staring grimly at the dashboard, his arms crossed over his chest.

He was _pouting_.

"You must be Gaius. I'm Arthur." The two men shook hands, and Arthur said, "I'm very glad to meet you, but I'm only sorry it's under these circumstances."

"The magic?" Gaius asked gently.

"The magic," Arthur said with a nod. He shook his head. "More accurately, Merlin. Merlin and the team."

Gaius lowered his chin, frowned, and waited for Arthur to continue.

Arthur took his arm, and they walked a few steps away from the others. "Is it safe to assume that Merlin has been keeping you apprised of..."

He made a gesture in the air.

"The missions? What he can tell me, yes," Gaius admitted. "And Lance has mentioned, very briefly, about Paris. Is Merlin all right?"

"Not a hundred percent, but yes." Arthur nodded. "After Paris, he was... shattered. Based on what he's told us, it's happened before, and, well... We're his team. We need to learn how to back him up, and vice versa. He can't take on everything -- our opponents, the responsibility of keeping everyone safe -- by himself. It would've been better if we had the chance to explore Merlin's abilities before the Directory --"

"The Directory is aware?" Gaius' eyebrow shot up, and indescribable alarm clenched at his insides.

"I certainly hope not," Arthur said, his voice firm. "And we'll keep it that way as long as we can, but it's bound to come out at some point. Best if it's later, when we can make sure he's safe. We mean to protect him, Gaius. It's the least we can do for everything he's done for us."

Gaius placed a hand over his chest in an useless gesture to calm the pounding. That momentary pulse of panic had nearly given him a heart attack. He moved his hand onto Arthur's arm, nodding firmly, knowing, somehow, that Arthur meant every word that he said. "Yes. Yes, that would be best."

Arthur glanced over his shoulder, but there had been no movement in the car. "You know him best. You've been training with him. You know his abilities better than anyone. I'd like you to go through some battle tactics with us, tell us what we could do to support Merlin, what we should look for when it's possible he might tire, what we need to do then, to make sure he recovers?"

Gaius studied Arthur appraisingly for a long moment. That wasn't what he had been expecting. He had long feared, should Merlin ever trust his Captain or his team -- whoever they might be -- enough to share with them his deepest secret, that they would see Merlin as a weapon, as a tool to be used. But Arthur, it seemed, was far more concerned for Merlin's well-being than anything else. Yes, he saw the advantage in having magic on their side, and he wasn't a fool -- he would use that for the team's benefit. More than that, however, Arthur was interested in making certain that Merlin would come out of whatever magical battle, whatever encounter, as healthy as he had been going in.

Men like Arthur, Gaius knew, were few and far between.

"I would be happy to assist," Gaius said. "I am afraid that I am limited in how far I can push Merlin. Some days, he is unwilling to work as hard as he should, even though we both have noticed that by pushing his limits, he grows stronger."

Arthur had the look of a man who knew that particular trait very well. "I hadn't noticed," he deadpanned.

Gaius couldn't help but chuckle.

"Perhaps you will be able to encourage him to continue to train his abilities better than I have," Gaius said. "He may be more willing to try new things if he knows his team is behind him."

"They are. It'll just take some getting used to," Arthur said, glancing past Gaius, turning slightly to watch the others prepare the equipment further down the road. "I was hoping that we could start on that today."

Gaius nodded, his body turning to look toward Lance and Leon before he could stop himself. "I gather that there is still some... discomfort with the situation?"

"Exposure will help," Arthur said, after a long silence. "Shock and surprise can make things seem more frightening than they really are. Hearing about it second-hand, or talking about it over the card table like a bunch of gossiping women -- that doesn't help either. I want the team to see Merlin. _Really_ see him."

"It seems that they do," Gaius said, thinking about the conversation with Lance in the car on the drive up, the heartfelt apology hidden behind Bohrs' brash words.

"Maybe you're right," Arthur said. "And maybe it's time that Merlin stops being afraid."

Gaius wondered at Arthur's insight, at the conclusion he had reached in what was such a short time when it had taken Gaius years before he realized. He glanced between Arthur, the car, and back again before asking, "Speaking of Merlin. Is there a problem?"

Arthur sighed heavily and rubbed his temples. "He won't get out of the car."

Gaius raised a brow. "Dare I ask why?"

"I didn't tell him why we were coming here until we were nearly here," Arthur admitted. He dropped his hands, and in the same gesture, his shoulders slumped. "He's not happy. I've been trying to convince him to come out for almost an hour."

"Oh, yes. That would do it." Gaius glanced between the car and Arthur again. He put a hand on Arthur's shoulder, patting kindly, and said, "Good luck."

"You wouldn't happen to have any advice for me?" Arthur asked, sounding hopeful and desperate. Gaius knew that feeling very well. He'd been in Arthur's shoes before, trying everything in creation to get a five-year-old Merlin to come out from wherever he'd hidden himself before his mother came home. The last thing he had wanted to do was have to explain to Hunith what he'd done to make Merlin so upset in the first place.

Gaius had learned his lesson then. He decided to spare Arthur some misery, and said, "Don't keep things from him again."

"I meant about getting him out of the car," Arthur said.

"Oh," Gaius paused, doing his best to come up with an answer. He shook his head. "Nothing ever worked for me."

Arthur half-sighed, half-chuckled, and shook his head. He walked to the car for another attempt at convincing Merlin to come out.

Gaius decided that he rather liked young Arthur Pendragon. He was everything that Merlin had said he was -- and well beyond that, if Gaius' first impression was any indication.

There was an air about Arthur, a quiet confidence, a calming charisma that even a complete stranger would recognize as trustworthy and honourable. Gaius was finding himself putting his faith in Arthur on sheer instinct.

He didn't think he was the only one who responded to Arthur in this way. His team trusted him, even if they didn't always agree with him or the decisions he made. They might hate him for keeping secrets, but they respected that he had his reasons -- reasons that would keep the team's best interest in mind. And for his part, Arthur held that faith, their loyalty, as something very, very precious, very, very fragile, something that he would guard with his life, even if it meant throwing his dignity away to do it.

The very same dignity that Arthur was about to throw away at this very moment, if what Gaius was seeing was any indication. Arthur was nearly on his knees, trying to get Merlin out of the car.

Arthur spent several minutes knocking on the windshield, trying to get Merlin to unlock the door, or at the very least, to answer his phone. Gaius didn't know what else that Arthur had tried thus far, but it appeared as if none of it was working.

The rest of the team was readying the equipment while pretending not to be watching the scene before them. Some were chuckling in amusement, but mostly, they were keeping their heads down and their derision to themselves.

They obviously cared about their Captain. And they did seem to have some affection for Merlin as well.

Gaius sighed softly, shaking his head. He worked his way up to the top of the hill and went to stand with Leon and Lance. They watched Arthur try to get Merlin's attention, and failing.

"I think he may be running out of ideas," Gaius remarked. Arthur was certainly being far more patient than Gaius himself would have been. Of course, Arthur didn't have any magic, or he would have lost his patience and blown open the hinges or the locks the way Gaius had done, once, when he was younger and still had some power to spare.

"He's doing better than I would have," Leon said. "Than any of us, really. I'd leave Merlin in the car to stew until he stewed himself out."

"I'd ask Owain to do something with the lock assembly," Lance said.

Lance was standing next to Gaius, his arms crossed over his chest, a broad grin spread over his face. Leon, standing on Gaius' other side, was fastening the nylon straps of his vest, keeping an eye on the unfolding drama while simultaneously chuckling quietly.

"On Arthur's BMW? That's sacrilege," Leon said.

"He can afford another one," Lance pointed out.

"True."

There was a long pause as they watched Arthur stand next to the car, one hand on his hip, the other holding his phone against his ear. Gaius could see that Merlin had relented, and had his own phone open.

"You have to admit, it's nice to see Arthur being human," Lance said.

"I don't think he knows if he's going left or right when it comes to Merlin," Leon agreed, glancing up, his smile broadening before he ducked down, half in embarrassment on Arthur's behalf, half afraid that he'd be caught laughing at his commanding officer.

"Merlin doesn't like surprises," Gaius remarked. Both of the men next to him bobbed their heads in agreement. "He can handle surprising situations, but he doesn't like it when he's kept in the dark, particularly when it involves him."

"In Arthur's defence, he's been worried about Merlin," Leon said. He paused. "We all have."

Neither of them said anything for a moment.

"I suppose we should get Owain to crack the car open if Arthur can't convince him to come out," Lance said. He looked at Gaius. "Do you think Merlin will be okay if Owain sets an explosive charge on the door?"

"Do you think _Arthur_ will be okay if Owain sets an explosive charge on his car?" Leon asked.

Lance snorted. "He can get another car."

Gaius couldn't help it. He laughed.

 

ooOOoo

 

Forget Merlin's magic. Arthur had done something far more impressive. It had taken a small miracle to convince Merlin _to get out of the car_.

"You're turning me into a circus sideshow," Merlin muttered under his breath. Arthur pointedly ignored him.

He double-checked that the doors to the BMW were, in fact, locked. He was _not_ giving Merlin a chance to get back in the car. Miracles were only miracles when they were performed once, and Arthur had sincere doubts that he would ever be able to convince Merlin to get out of the car again. While he left Sullen Merlin leaning against the passenger door, his arms crossed over his chest, staring pointedly at the ground, Arthur went to the boot of the car, opened it, and pulled out their gear.

"I can't believe you dragged my uncle into this," Merlin said.

"He's trained you before." Arthur shoved Merlin's kit into his arms. "Now he's going to show us how to train with you."

Merlin let his kit fall out of his arms and onto the ground. Arthur gritted his teeth in what he considered to be a supreme show of patience. If Merlin were any other soldier refusing to participate in a training session, Arthur would be tearing him out a new arsehole right now. But Merlin wasn't just any other soldier -- Arthur had the distinct feeling that if he didn't make nice, he'd be sleeping on the couch for the foreseeable future, never mind that it was _his_ bed -- and there were some other things to take into account.

For one, while the team might have forgiven Merlin for not telling them about his magic, it didn't mean that they were comfortable with it. They wouldn't get comfortable with it unless they saw Merlin in action, but seeing Merlin in action was apparently part of the problem, because Merlin didn't want to make the situation any worse than it was by putting the team even more on edge than they already were.

Arthur put down his bag. He put his hands on Merlin's shoulders. "Merlin."

"What?" Merlin sucked in his cheek, chewing up the insides the way he did when he didn't like something.

"Look at me, Merlin," Arthur said. It took nearly a minute of restless rocking, shoulder shrugging, and heavy sighing before Merlin's jewel blues finally looked at him. "Do you trust me?"

Merlin rolled his eyes and there was a slight tug at the corners of his mouth. "'Course I do."

"Then put on your gear. We're doing this. You're doing this." Arthur touched his cheek. "Yeah?"

Merlin shook his head. He nodded. He released a small, annoyed huff. "Yeah, fine. But when this goes sour --"

"If this goes badly -- it will only go badly if you make it go badly, Merlin, and I had better see you put in some real effort into this -- I will get on my knees and apologize and I will take you to the British Museum and I will follow you _all day long_ without complaining that I'd rather be somewhere else. I will buy you chips, I will get you whatever toys and books you want to get --"

Merlin shot him a suspicious look. "The British Museum?"

Arthur nodded. When he saw Merlin's shoulders slump in defeat, the last of his resolve eroding, Arthur knew that he had him. Why hadn't he thought of bribing Merlin in the first place?

" _Fine_. But I'm still pissed with you," Merlin said, and picked up his kit. He stalked off to the staging area, throwing a hand up in the air, his head down, his shoulders bowed into himself as if trying to brace for the absolute worst. The air crackled with energy, with emotion, with power, and Arthur realized at that moment that all three were one and the same when it came to Merlin.

Arthur breathed in relief, running his hands through his hair, and glanced over at where Gaius was standing with Lance and Leon. Gaius raised an eyebrow and gave him a small, slight _I'm impressed_ nod. Arthur shook his head, picked up his kit, and went to change.

He caught up to Merlin on the way to the open field where he and the boys used to play footie when they came to the lake house during the summer, his boots slipping in the muck. "You know, if I were going to turn you into a circus attraction, I'd have you wear something prettier."

" _Prettier_?" Merlin asked, looking at him as if he'd grown a second head.

"Yeah. Long flowing robes, maybe a hat with feathers on it. Long, long feathers --"

"I think I know who's being the girl today." Merlin snorted. But he was smiling. It was a tiny, _I don't want to smile_ smirk, a tug of the corners of his lips, a sidelong glance with long fluttering eyelashes that promised revenge in all sorts of filthy ways -- ways that Arthur doubted he would particularly be adverse to experiencing. Arthur considered that smile a small victory.

Merlin ducked past him to meet Gaius halfway to the field, his mood eased enough that he greeted his uncle with a hug before launching in a long complaint about the situation. Arthur collected his vest and equipment from the boxes lined up near one of the vans and started fastening the straps. When he looked again, Gaius was patting Merlin's shoulder, Merlin's head was thrown back and he was staring at the sky in anguished _why me_ , and whatever argument or protest or gripe that Merlin had been about to expound on withered with one look at Gaius' raised eyebrow.

It really was a frightening eyebrow. Merlin had been right about that.

Merlin's aggravated groan made his entire body bow and tremble under its might, and he stormed away from Gaius with a snarled, " _Fine!_ Take his side!". Gaius shook his head at Merlin's retreat, turned and nodded at Arthur, and Arthur suddenly felt as if he had an ally, a _real_ one, where Merlin was concerned.

Gaius directed Perceval and Owain to set up a device that looked like an automated tennis ball thrower on steroids at one end of the field. "All right, Merlin. Shall we begin with a few demonstrations?"

"We're starting with that thing?" Merlin asked, pointing in the vague direction of the thrower. He was making his way across the field, not stopping until he was about two hundred feet away.

"Yes. With this thing. And come closer. We've established that your reaction times are much, much faster than this," Gaius said, gesturing to the wide open space with a broad wave of his hand.

"I hate that thing," Merlin said, but he did as he was instructed and closed the distance.

The team crowded around Arthur, lining up the field. It was Bohrs who asked, "So what's going to happen now? We'll pummel him with tennis balls?"

"Try," Lance said. "We'll _try_ to pummel him with tennis balls."

"I don't know," Bohrs said, shaking his head. "A good overhand serve can go up to 200 klicks per. If not more."

"Not hardly as fast as a bullet," Gwaine remarked. His brow was pinched in thought -- something Arthur decided must cause him grievous pain if his expression was anything to go by "Well, he's got a shield for the bullets anyway, doesn't he?"

"That he has," Arthur said. He glanced at Leon, next to him. "Did Gaius say what he was going to have Merlin do?"

"The basics," Leon said, half-shaking his head. "Deflection, mostly. I gathered that Gaius focused on defensive magic more than anything."

There was a loud _ping_ , and suddenly Merlin doubled over in half, his head bowed, his arms wrapped around his midsection. He fell onto his knees, then forward, and it was only because of the faintest twist in his torso that he landed on his side, curled up in a foetal position.

"Sorry! That was my fault!" Perceval shouted, raising an apologetic hand. "I touched the wrong thing!"

"Not to worry," Gaius said, raising his voice to be heard. "Merlin should have stopped it."

"Gaius is right, _Mer_ lin," Arthur shouted. "It's not like the enemy's going to give you a warning when they start firing!"

Merlin didn't try to get up, but he raised his arm and curled his fingers until all but two were closed into his fist.

"Get up, Merlin!" Geraint said with a laugh.

"It couldn't have hurt that much!" Galahad mocked. "It's a _tennis ball_."

Merlin moved his arm in the air, aiming his two-fingered salute in their direction. It made Arthur sympathetically sore to watch Merlin push himself into a sitting position, to get his feet under him, to straighten. The tennis ball rolled out from his grasp and bounced on the grass. "You want. To come here. And see for yourself?"

Gaius took a few steps away from the device and nodded at Owain, stepping forward once to gesture at the controls. Owain nodded in agreement at whatever Gaius had said, and Gaius raised an arm. "Ready, Merlin?"

"No!"

"Good enough for me!" Owain said, flicking the switch.

What happened next was a high-velocity, ear-splitting _whompwhompwhomp_ barrage from a modified tennis ball thrower that most assuredly did _not_ fire anywhere at the piddling speeds of an overhand serve -- even a serve from a top-notch tournament pro. The tennis balls were travelling so fast as to _change_ shape, more teardrop than circle under the friction of the air and the force propelling them out of the long blocky tube that might as well be the little brother to the RAM launchers on aircraft carriers. The balls spat out of the thrower in random numbers -- in pairs, in fours, in a dozen scatter-shot pitches whipping toward Merlin.

Merlin, who was _standing there like a bloody idiot_ , a hand wrapped around his waist where the first ball had struck, his arm outstretched, his eyes glowing _gold_ \--

For every _whompwhompwhomp_ from the thrower at one side of the field, there was an answering _thompthompthomp_ of the balls hitting something soft and squishy. When the thrower clicked and clanged and stopped running, signalling an empty bin needing reload, everyone's eyes went from one side of the field to the next, where they saw a wall of balls hanging in the air.

Arthur's initial reaction to the barrage had been the same as everyone else -- the battle-trained reflex to duck and dodge, the quick grab for a weapon that wasn't there, the wide-eyed _everywhere_ scan to find the source of the _incoming_. His body had startled, he was one step back and to the side from where he used to be, his body was tense and taut and roaring with adrenaline, but his heart had stopped at seeing Merlin in the direct line of fire.

For Arthur, it was Paris all over again, and his body responded on a deep, bone-deep, even cellular level. He didn't know who kept him from launching himself across the field, because even though he knew that there was no danger, that grenades or missiles or bullets or even magical burning balls of light weren't going at Merlin and all logic screamed that there was no way that he would reach Merlin in time, he still wanted to _try_.

Slowly, very slowly, he relaxed. Around him, his team did the same. They blew out held breath, stood straighter, brushed themselves off, and acted as if they hadn't been _scared out of their skin_ when the thrower had gone off. They shrugged off the battle-readiness, the fighting instinct, the trained reflexes, and stood watching Merlin with something like awe.

No. Not something like. It was awe.

There was a bloody wall of balls in the air.

"Fuck me," Gwaine whistled, and of course he would be the one to break the silence.

But Arthur was the first one to walk toward Merlin, walking away at first so that he could see the balls on one side, then at Merlin so that he could see it from his perspective. The wall was a perfect square right in front of Merlin, every ball neatly slotted an equidistant space apart. In some spots, it was two, even three balls thick, each of which was perfectly balanced on top of the one before, sticking outwards in a pattern that looked very much like Merlin's hand.

"Shite," Bohrs said, shaking his head. Lance had a hand over his face, covering a mouth dropped open in something halfway between a gasp and a laugh. Leon was looking up and down the wall as if he'd never seen its like before -- as none of them had. More than one of Excalibur, particularly those who hadn't seen what Merlin had done in Paris, had big round eyes and slack jaws.

"That's..." Geraint said, his mouth moving around syllables as if testing out each word he wanted to use, but finding them inadequate.

It was Gahalad who finished for him. "Awesome! That was awesome!"

Kay clapped his hands together and laughed. It was a big, belly laugh like none of them had heard him laugh before, and there was absolute, sheer delight in his expression.

Arthur was standing right next to Merlin; there was no missing the clench of his jaw, the angry side glance full of _see what you turned me into_ , and Arthur couldn't forget the way Merlin had said _"circus sideshow"_. It was ringing in his ears right now.

Merlin lowered his arm in a slow gesture. The wall of balls followed his movement. Then his arm dropped to his side, and the remaining balls cascaded down and bounced in every direction.

"Merlin --"

"Don't, Arthur. Just. Don't." A weighy exhaustion fell over Merlin, and he ran a hand against the side of his head before turning away. The argument that they had in the car on the way over came flooding back to Arthur at the sight of that simple, frustrated gesture.

_"You what?"_

_Arthur wished that he wasn't driving the car. The tone of Merlin's voice implied that at any moment now, he would unbuckle his seat belt and lunge at him to wrap his hands around Arthur's neck, and throttle him until he suffocated or crashed the car -- whichever one was quickest. He continued on as if Merlin hadn't sounded so painfully betrayed. "Gaius will be there, so we'll at least get insight from someone who knows you, on top of learning how we can incorporate your magic --"_

_"Gaius? Jesus fucking Christ. You roped my uncle into this? Arthur, what is_ wrong _with you? Why wouldn't you tell me before?"_

_"Because you've been upset. You were tired. You needed to rest without getting yourself wound up about something else," Arthur said, glancing at Merlin. He didn't know what he'd been expecting, but it hadn't been this: Merlin gripping the car door as if he was seriously considering jumping out._

_"Have you even considered that maybe I'm not a dog-and-pony show?"_

_"Have you considered that maybe I don't see you that way?_

_"Maybe you should -- because that's how the rest of the team is going to see it --"_

_"Not_ this _again, Merlin! The team knows about your magic, and you heard them. They're okay with it --"_

 _"They might_ say _that --"_

 _"Merlin! You don't understand --" Arthur felt a pain growing in his head, right at the temple, and moved one hand from the wheel to press a finger on the offending spot. He wished he hadn't broken from protocol, that he'd asked one of the others to drive them to the house instead of going on their own, but he'd wanted some time alone with Merlin. It was backfiring on him rather beautifully, too, since there was nothing he wanted more at the moment than to be able to see Merlin right now, to take him in, to_ know _why Merlin was so upset._

 _"No!_ You _don't get it! It's one thing for people to know about my magic, but now you're making me_ show _them what I can do?"_

_"How is it different from you building a Crack Box out of a bloody Gameboy? Or encrypting messages on the fly? Or rewiring the Directory's communications centre so that you can spy on them whenever you want -- I still can't believe you did that --"_

_"I couldn't help it! I was so pissed! They had no right to do that to Freya. But that's not the point -- the point is..."_

_The silence from Merlin's side of the car dragged on for so long that Arthur looked over at him for as long as he dared, not wanting to drift into the wrong lane. Merlin had pushed himself as far away from Arthur as he could get, his shoulder against the car's frame, his arms crossed tightly over his chest, his chin tucked down. His jaw was tight with tension, his brow pinched in the middle, and his lips were pressed together so tightly, Arthur thought he would break apart. "The point is, we have to get the team used to seeing you do magic."_

_Merlin scoffed. "They've spent three weeks with the Directory spooks. They've seen it up close and personal. They should be used to it by now."_

_"Being on the receiving end of Directory bollocks, yeah, they're used to that," Arthur said, slowing down so that he could turn off onto the dirt road that would take them to the cabin. "But this is different. Now, we're going to have you on our side, yeah?"_

_Merlin scoffed, and muttered under his breath, "Whatever."_

This was what Arthur had wanted to see in the car during their argument. Merlin, wearing his heart on his sleeve, so that Arthur could bloody well realize what a complete and utter pillock he was, for missing what Merlin had been trying to tell him.

Arthur really hadn't understood. But he did now. At least, he thought he did.

Merlin was afraid and angry. It had been drilled into him until it was in his genetic code. _Keep it secret. Hide it from everyone._ And now, suddenly, the magic wasn't only _his_ secret. It was theirs, the team's, and Merlin was afraid, because he was no longer the sole custodian, and he had no control over what the others would do.

It had taken a great deal of courage dipped in thin coating of crystal-fragile trust for Merlin to tell Arthur about his magic, on his own, without encouragement. Arthur wondered if Merlin had rehearsed, over and over again in his head, how he would have worded his confession, weighed the tone of his voice. He wondered if Merlin had _planned_ how wanted to tell the rest of the team, biding his time until the conditions were right, growing more anxious each and every day that he couldn't.

Merlin never planned anything. But this time he had, because he wanted it to be right. He wanted it to be perfect. He wanted... He wanted whatever it was that he wanted, but it hadn't worked out quite the way that he was supposed to. His instinct to protect them from the enemy sorcerers -- Arthur was never going to stop being grateful and furious and relieved for Merlin's actions in Paris -- had derailed those plans. And here Arthur was, making it worse by _taking over_ , taking even more control away from Merlin.

Arthur swallowed a sigh. He should have known. He should have seen this.

"Merlin --" He placed a soft hand on Merlin's shoulder, relieved when Merlin didn't pull away. He also didn't look at Arthur, which stung. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be pushing you."

"But you are," Merlin said, tilting his head. His voice was quiet now, all his anger gone. He crossed his arms over his chest, propping one arm up to rub his face.

"I know. I'm an idiot."

Merlin shrugged his shoulder. "I was going to say you were a pillock, but that works, too."

Arthur chuckled hollowly, because it wasn't as if Merlin had to agree so bloody fast, and gently turned Merlin around. " _Look_ at them, Merlin --"

Merlin grumbled under his breath, shrugging his shoulders as if he meant for Arthur to let him go _right now_. Arthur didn't need to look through his encyclopaedia of Merlin expressions to know that Merlin was unhappy. Arthur waited, and he would wait as long as he had to, until Merlin saw what Arthur himself saw. Leon and Lance were _grinning_ , because they couldn't help themselves. Now, they had validation that what they had seen Merlin do hadn't been their imagination, that it was real, that, yes, Merlin was the one who had saved them, who had saved Morgana. Kay was absolutely fucking _delighted_ , as if he were a kid opening presents on Christmas day and finding the collection of throwing knives that he'd wanted for a dog's age, because to him, Merlin was _the best thing ever_. Geraint and Galahad, who were excitedly talking over each other -- neither one of them listening to what the other was saying -- were spouting ideas and plans on how to use Merlin in combat, though Arthur suspected that they were more planning how they could convince Merlin to help them pull _pranks_. Lamorak and Bedivere and Pellinor and the others who hadn't been there at the time, they were staring in dumbfounded amazement, their smiles wavering between uncertain _did I really see that_ and stupefied _holy shite_.

Gwaine was wearing a bemused expression, as if he thought he couldn't possibly admire Merlin any _more_ than he already did -- and Arthur tried very hard not to think about how besotted Gwaine looked right now. But most of all -- most _importantly_ , because Bohrs had expressed his shock and his fear with his fists, there was nothing but grudging admiration from him.

None of them had a single drop of hatred, of fear, of apprehension. And the more Merlin watched them, the more the guarded rise of his shoulders eased. He sighed softly, giving Arthur a dry look that Arthur knew very well -- it was Merlin's _you're right, and I hate it when you're right, but I'll never admit it, because your ego is already swollen enough as it is, you bloody prat_ glare.

"-- they're your mates. They'll always be your mates." Arthur drew his arm away, shifting so that he could look at Merlin, and he nodded. "Yeah?"

Merlin lowered his eyes before giving Arthur a sharp return nod and heavy sigh in answer. "Yeah."

Arthur turned around to see Leon and Lance approaching them with the slow stride of men who knew when to give other people some alone time, but not too much, because they had to get on with things. They walked faster when they received Arthur's nod, and somewhere behind them, Gwaine broke from his reverie and trotted up to catch up.

"All right, Arthur, we know we don't have to worry about _him_ getting himself killed. He can take care of himself," Leon said, clasping his shoulder roughly. "But we're going to have to work on _you_."

"On me?"

"Yeah, mate," Gwaine said, having heard the last bit. "Can't have you running after Merlin trying to protect him _every time something's going to happen_ when it's obvious that he's going to be _fine_ , can we? That's a sure way of getting yourself killed."

A flush of embarrassed heat passed through Arthur, and he pointedly ignored the raised eyebrow and small _really? You're doing that?_ smile from Merlin. Instead, he raised two fingers at Gwaine.

Lance laughed and Arthur shot him an _et tu, Brutus_ glare that all three of them pointedly ignored. Arthur wondered whose side they were on.

"All right, Merlin. What else can you do?" Leon asked. Merlin's answering smile was big and bright.

 _What else_ turned out to be quite a lot. Stopping projectiles, deflecting them, redirecting them altogether -- it was all child's play for Merlin, who had better aim with his magic than he ever would have with a gun. He could create fire and douse it with water or extinguish it by sheer will alone. Objects would move, bend, disappear, reappear. Sound could be projected, enhanced, muted. Temporary illusions could be directed like puppets -- _"So that's how you drew them out that time in that village over at the Ravines," Gwaine blurted out. "Bloody well gave me a heart attack, thinking you were shot when you fell out of my scope's sight."_.

It was an endless list of _can you do this_ and _can you do that_ for which the answers were either, _yes_ , _this isn't fucking Hollywood, Geraint_ , or _I'm not sure_ with a glance toward Gaius, who would shrug his shoulders and say, _I don't see why he couldn't_.

Already, Arthur could see how Merlin's magic could be incorporated into the battle plans that the team had put together, how Merlin would nearly be able to take on a completely different role to ensure their effectiveness. He knew how Merlin could, and _should_ use his magic to distract, to confuse, to waylay the enemy, all without tipping his hand as a sorcerer. At the same time, he was seeing -- the _team_ was seeing -- how vulnerable Merlin was when he was using his magic, when there wasn't anyone at his side to protect him.

With a certainty that he couldn't explain, Arthur knew that they would keep Merlin's secret. The team would keep his secret until the very end.

He didn't say anything. He didn't start barking out orders to try this manoeuvre or that one, however much that he wanted to try a few things to stretch, to push what Merlin could do. It wasn't the time. Those would come later, much later, because at the moment, he was revelling in each and every one of Merlin's smiles, smiles that were coming much faster and easier now.

It was a mud-covered later when they abandoned the makeshift footie-field-turned-battleground for the lake and the house and salvaged the grill for a cook-up from the shed. Arthur caught up to Gaius making himself comfortable in a lawn chair under the house's awning.

"We're just scratching the surface, aren't we?" Arthur asked.

Gaius gave him the briefest of nods. They watched in silence as half of the team crowded around Perceval on the dock, trying to shove him off the edge. There were screams and shouts of encouragement from the people who knew better than to get anywhere near Perceval when it came to this sort of things, and they hooted and hollered when Perceval managed to get five of the six into the drink with him in a gigantic splash. The only one to escape was a laughing and pointing Merlin.

"You're good for him. You all are."

Arthur looked down at Gaius, and, not knowing what to say, asked instead, "How do you like your steak?"

"Well-done. Do you need any help?" Gaius asked, and Arthur shook his head.

"Oh, no. That's what I've got that lot for," Arthur said, gesturing toward the team. He headed into the house to collect the supplies. He came out with an armload of packages -- the potatoes and the corn were already cooking in the kitchen -- and walked down the rise to Merlin racing away from a sopping-wet Gwaine, herded and penned by Geraint and Galahad until Perceval caught and shouldered a squealing Merlin, went to the edge of the dock, and jumped in.

The sky cracked open at that same instant, and Arthur wasn't so sure that it wasn't a coincidence. The half of the team who were still dry ran for the staging area tent, lifting it up to cover the grill and the food. Arthur checked the grill temperature, placed the steaks, and shut the lid.

"I'll take over," Lamorak offered, and Arthur stepped aside.

Over at the lake, Perceval hauled himself up and out of the water, turning to offer a hand up and out to Merlin. While the others went to shore, wringing their shirts out fruitlessly, Merlin stood at the edge of the dock, his head tilted back, exposing his face to the rain.

Soaking wet. Boots and pants and shirt. He stood there, not seeming to mind that he was cold and soaked, despite it being barely summer and the lake had never gotten very warm even on the hottest day in England. He didn't seem to mind that the sky was falling in a torrent that could only be described as unnaturally tropical.

As Arthur watched, Merlin reached to wipe the water from his face, to run his hand through his wet hair, leaving it sticking up in spiky triangles. The rain ran from the long lines of his body in riverine streams, following every soft curve of muscle, every sharp jut of bone before dribbling down.

The air smelled like raindrop-crushed grass and the electrical crisp of ozone. The sunset's slivers pierced the clouds looming over the horizon, shining between the emerald green of the forest's canopy and the pale grey of thick, cottony clouds.

There was a bonelessness to Merlin's pose, soft, relaxed, calm. A sweet, tiny laugh escaped him.

And suddenly, a perfect stillness swept over the lake, the staging tent, the cabin. The faint breeze fell; the rocking branches and rustling leaves oscillating less and less until they stopped moving completely. The bristling grass arched and stood straight, curling lightly at the tips. The pat-pat-pat of rainfall on the tent roof whispered and dimmed and silenced.

The rain hung in the air.

The sunbeams brightened, burning through the clouds until nothing was in the way, and the raindrops glittered like diamonds.

"Wow," Geraint whispered.

Kay hushed him.

Arthur stepped out from under the tent, pushing aside the hanging water blocking his way. He moved slowly, weaving around obstacles, each crush of boot on gravel and grass grating like sandpaper over skin. The dock creaked under his weight, the wood bending and bowing.

Merlin turned to look at him, and the sight of Merlin like that trapped Arthur's breath in his chest, his heart burning with desire.

Merlin was the devil in the rain, his army greens slick-black with wet. He was loose and limber and deadly, his hair a chaos of spikes and curls. The sun shone on him in a single beam diffracted a thousand times from all the raindrops suspended in the air, a prismatic rainbow casting an ethereal fire and light in a breathtaking aura. Merlin was long and lean and beautiful, with sharp cheekbones and a smirking smile of mischief, but it was those eyes -- those _golden_ eyes -- that drew Arthur closer and closer, until he grasped Merlin's outstretched hand and let Merlin pull him near.

He was aware of the clouds passing overhead, and the drops drifting down to the ground, but no more; the rain passed beyond them, to pound the storm somewhere else.

"Show off," Arthur whispered. He closed his eyes when Merlin's lips brushed over his, but it was such a faint, teasing touch that he opened them again.

Merlin's eyebrows were raised, his mouth was in a _sorry, love, this is payback_ grin, and he shoved Arthur off the edge of the dock.

" _Mer_ l--"

 

ooOOoo

 

"If the army taught you anything, it was how to make corners so tight that one cannot actually _get_ into the bed," Gaius remarked.

Merlin glanced up, the thick down blanket still in his hand, and blinked tiredly until the haze cleared enough for him to see Gaius' outline in the doorway. He grinned sheepishly. "Sorry. I guess it's force of habit."

Staff sergeant inspections of the barracks during boot camp training were usually announced ahead of time, giving the recruits a chance to shape up their kits and clean up their sections, but worse than that were the surprise checks that occurred at random: ten minutes after waking up at the arse-crack of dawn, or after a ten-hour day out on the confidence courses and a "cooling-down" rucksack run. Merlin, like the other recruits, had learned to operate on sheer automation, the brain falling asleep while the body repeated the movements by rote, folding clothes to meet standards, polishing boots until the constellations in another galaxy were visible in their patina, and making the bed to quarter-bouncing tightness in the middle of the night before what was _sure_ to be another inspection.

He was in the same sort of state right now, though it was less total exhaustion and more a pleasant, mushy tired that promised an aching muscle soreness in the morning. When Arthur told him to make up Gaius' bed, because Gaius should have peace and quiet away from the rest of them for the night, Merlin had responded to the feeling of bedclothes in his arms with the same single-mindedness he'd had when he was determined _not_ to have the staff sergeant yell in his face again for having found a wrinkle on the cot.

"Some habits never die," Gaius said, putting a comforting hand on Merlin's shoulder. "There are times I find myself doing the same thing. Not often, mind, but sometimes."

Between the two of them, they wrestled the big blanket on top of the sheets. Merlin looked at the bed wistfully.

There were other rooms in a house that was more of a sprawling lodge on private property that encompassed the entire lake and then some, but for some reason that Merlin couldn't fathom, the team was camping out on the main floor on foam cushion mattresses. He'd seen Arthur pull two sleeping bags from the boot of the BMW earlier, and was resigned to sleeping on the floor, but it didn't stop him from looking wistfully at the bed.

Gaius must have caught him at it, because he said, "I'm not adverse to your company, but it _has_ been a long day, Merlin."

"Right. I know. Just. It's the bed." Merlin gestured helplessly. He had to stop himself, because the momentum was luring him closer to collapsing on something plush and soft.

"And believe me, I am grateful to be sleeping in one," Gaius said, and Merlin's eyes narrowed at the amusement in his tone. "I am well past the age where I am able spend all night chatting with my teammates."

Merlin raised a brow. "Really? I seem to remember Mum saying you never went to bed last Easter. Your mates showed up with some whiskey --"

Gaius sighed. "Merlin, this is my way of saying, I'll be fine, and perhaps you should go and join your friends?"

"Oh. Yeah. Right." Merlin rubbed his face, chuckled to himself, and headed to the door. "I can take a hint."

"Merlin," Gaius said, stopping him at the doorway.

"Yeah?"

"Arthur's a good man. He obviously cares for you very much." Merlin could measure the depth of the flush in his cheeks by the way Gaius' smile broadened. "Your mother will want to meet him. Preferably soon. And _I_ will not tell her that you are currently in a relationship, because she will hound me for details that I don't have and will be forced to invent. I should hope that you'll tell her soon?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, wondering what gave them away and deciding that probably _everything_ had, from the way Merlin wouldn't get out of the car, to Arthur reacting to the onslaught of tennis balls in Merlin's direction, the way Merlin had leaned on Arthur until his vision cleared after he'd missed deflecting a couple of fast-moving projectiles. Oh, and he'd nearly forgotten the kiss on the dock, right before he tossed Arthur into the lake. "I'll tell her. I promise. I don't know when, but I will. Goodnight, Uncle Gaius."

"Goodnight, Merlin."

"Uncle Gaius?" Merlin paused, a hand on the doorknob. When Arthur told him they were going to the lake, he'd expected a nice, quiet weekend with just the two of them -- and whoever else would come along to play the parts of their bodyguards. Discovering that he had something _else_ in mind, and what exactly that had been, had been a harsh wake-up call.

"Yes, Merlin?"

He imagined it would have been worse if Gaius hadn't been invited along, the lot of them stumbling around in the dark, trying to make sense of Merlin's magic. He hadn't missed how most of the team had approached Gaius, talking to him quietly, every now and then glancing in Merlin's direction the way people did when they were talking about someone. Whatever Gaius and the others had talked about, it looked to have gone a long way in easing whatever concerns they hadn't been able to ask Merlin directly. "I'm glad you're here."

Gaius smiled. "So am I. But I'm more glad that you have them. I couldn't ask for you to have better friends."

"Yeah," Merlin whispered, nodding. He knew that he was lucky, that things could be much, much worse, that the team could _still_ hate him. But they didn't.

It was almost as if things were back to normal, if normal was awkward and uncertain and different. Things were better than normal.

Merlin shut the door behind him and headed down the stairs, stopping at the bottom. He took a deep breath, rubbed his face, and prepared himself for having to sleep on the floor. He was not the only one sharing this sentiment, because Bedivere walked past him, four pillows tucked under his arms, muttering, "I thought we were _done_ with this sleeping on the ground bollocks."

"Was bound to happen again," Pellinor pointed out.

"This soon?"

Pellinor shrugged. "It could be worse, you know."

"How's that?" Bedivere tossed his treasure down and distributed the wealth.

"Could be sleeping outside." Pellinor thumbed over his shoulder at the window; it was _pouring_ rain now, and Merlin knew it was the cause-and-effect of having nudged the weather away from the cabin so that they could eat in the open air without getting soaked. It wasn't the first time he'd used that trick, and the rain always returned later with a particular vengeance.

He'd learned a long time ago not to mess with the forces of nature too much -- or too often -- when he was ten years old. Keeping the playground dry for a full week by stopping the nigh-perpetual drizzle from falling resulted in a severe flood on the base two days later when he finally let go. Half of his books had been ruined, most of his toys had washed away, and the smell of anti-mildew spray still made him queasy to this day.

A small rainstorm was a small price to pay for a few hours of clear sky and the perpetuation of the camaraderie that had been restored to the team. Merlin almost felt at home in his own skin again.

If someone had told him that he would one day reveal his secret, and be comfortable enough with those people to practice magic in front of them, he would have laughed in their faces. Maybe someday, he would laugh for a completely different reason -- _of course I'd tell them about my magic. They're my mates_ \-- but at the moment, he couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with incredulity and relief.

Nothing had gone the way he had hoped for, and there had been _days_ where he thought none of them would ever speak to him again. Merlin didn't know what he had expected to happen, how the team would react, but it definitely wasn't _this_. This was far more than he'd expected. More than he deserved.

Kay was tossing out bags of crisps. Owain was lugging in the last of the coolers from outside and transferring the beers to the refrigerator. The three G's were arguing over the remote control to the large plasmascreen TV -- how they'd gotten that monstrosity through the front door when they decorated the house, Merlin wasn't entirely sure. Perceval loomed over them and yanked the remote out of Gwaine's hands.

"There's no footie on tonight --"

"There's _always_ footie on," Galahad said.

"Yeah, highlights from last week, and some shite team you lot never like anyway --"

"We like all teams!" Geraint protested.

"How about we just watch a movie?" Perceval suggested, nudging Gwaine with his knee.

"I'm not in the mood for a movie," Gwaine complained, but he tilted his head to the side when Perceval ran his hand through Gwaine's hair.

"You're just going to fall asleep a half hour before it ends," Perceval said.

"Not if it's porn," Gwaine said.

"We are not watching porn with you in the room," Lance said, walking past them to run a finger over a DVD collection that took up the entire wall. Merlin was pretty sure that there was an exact duplicate of that collection in Arthur's flat. Lance moved to slip something in; after a minute, the menu for **Lock, Stock, and Two Smokin' Barrels** came up on the screen.

Bit by bit, the team settled, making themselves comfortable around the telly, most of them propped up on pillows and already in their bags, stretched out and yawning. Beers were passed around, large bowls were liberated from the kitchen and the crisps poured into them, and cards were shuffled over in the corner where Kay complained, "But that's my deck!" before being exiled from the game with a pointed, "Exactly the reason why we don't want you playing. We know you cheat."

"Oi, my name's not Gwaine!"

"No, it's worse. It's _Kay_."

"Fuck you too," Kay snarled, yanking the bowl of crisps away, recovering his beer to settle against the couch, where Lamorak was stretched out. "How's the foot?"

"Foot's fine. Move your big head. I can't see the telly," Lamorak said. By mutual agreement -- and only because Lamorak had a _spectacular_ wipeout on the field that had (for once) nothing to do with Merlin's magic and everything to do with a tripwire someone who wasn't named Gwaine had set up right in front of a mud puddle -- no one argued him having the couch all to himself.

Leon came out of the kitchen with a fresh ice pack, trading it for the one that had thawed limply around Lamorak's ankle.

"All right, everyone ready? I'm about to turn it on, and I don't want to hear any complaining that you weren't here to see the start, never mind that you wankers have seen this one a dozen times and can quote it from memory --" Perceval said, holding up the remote.

"Yeah, yeah, we're all here," Gwaine said, tugging on Perceval's pyjama pant leg. Perceval kept them from slipping further by knocking Gwaine over with his knee.

Arthur noticed Merlin standing in front of the stairs, watching them, but he didn't say anything and left Merlin alone. It was Leon who spotted Merlin, who picked up on his hesitation, and said, "Give us a minute, yeah, Perce?"

"One minute," Perceval agreed, holding his arm out of Galahad's reach.

"Where's Merlin?" Kay asked, sitting up straight.

"Down in front!" Lamorak yelled, smacking Kay on the back of his head.

Everyone looked around until they saw Merlin, and waved him over. "The fuck are you waiting for?" Bohrs asked.

"I just..." Merlin paused, standing awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot before taking a slow, careful step forward, hands on the back of the couch. Every uncertainty, every doubt, every fear came at him in that moment, and he pressed his lips together to keep the stutter from slipping out. He swallowed hard and closed his eyes, because maybe closing his eyes would help. "I just wanted to say I was sorry. For not telling you earlier."

No one answered him. There was no sound. Until Merlin opened his eyes again, it was almost as if he was alone in the room.

The pillow hit him from nowhere. "Stop being a _girl_. Sit your arse down, let's watch us the movie," Pellinor said.

There was a chorus of agreement, broken only by Bohrs' grumbling. "Will you _move_ already? Or do I have to punch you again?"

"Only if you want yourself fired for real," Arthur said mildly, but there was venom in his voice that Bohrs couldn't miss. That no one in the room could miss.

And yet he did. "Oi, what for? This time it's legitimate grounds, he's holding up the flick --"

"Bohrs?" Gwaine said. "I might mistake Arthur's _you're fired_ for an order to shoot you. Will you shut up?"

Bohrs shut up, but not without a grunt of dissent. He leaned forward and snatched the bowl of crisps out of Gwaine's lap.

"Do wish you've told us earlier," Geraint said. "We could've had us hot showers in the field all along."

Seventeen people, a muddy field, a cold lake and one hot water tank with a finite volume and slow heating element was a recipe for disaster, and Merlin had solved that problem by making certain that there was enough hot water for everyone. He'd received more than one clap on the back and murmured _that's brilliant, why didn't you do this back on base_ for it.

"I were washing up cold then, too," Merlin said.

"That's the only reason I'm not more pissed at you," Geraint said.

"Look, I'm not best pleased that you kept it from us," Perceval said, still holding the remote up in the air, far away from Galahad. "I'm going to be sore about it for a while --"

"Yeah, myself as well," Owain said.

"And me --"

"We all know your feelings on it," Gwaine said, interrupting Bohrs from saying any more. "It's as obvious as the bloody shiner on Merlin's face --"

"-- but he's a mate, and that counts for something, yeah?" Kay asked.

"It counts for a lot," Perceval said. He paused, his gaze intense. "More than you know. But that's it. No more secrets, right? You don't have, I dunno, an evil twin brother --"

"Oh, please say that you do!" Gwaine twisted around and started to stand up, but Perceval held him down..

"-- or, I suppose, you're really married with kids --"

"I think Arthur would be a little cross if he were," Leon said.

" _More_ than a little cross," Arthur said, raising an eyebrow at Merlin.

"I think even if he had an evil twin brother or were married with kids, the magic kind of trumps everything else," Lance said. He glanced around, but he didn't see anyone agreeing with him. "No? No one thinks so?"

"Look, I promise. I don't have any more secrets. That was my last one, honestly. If I haven't told you something, it's because I haven't thought of it, or because I didn't know." Merlin looked around the room. "I swear."

The silence that followed crushed his chest, making it hard to breathe.

"All right," Perceval said finally, pointing the remote at Merlin. "You've got a lot of making up to do, and you can start by sitting your arse down so that I can start the movie."

"And no snogging Arthur," Bohrs said. "No offence, but this isn't a snogging movie."

"What about snogging me?" Gwaine asked.

"Definitely not," Perceval said.

"No shagging either," Owain said.

"Yes, no shagging. I don't mind the snogging, but the shagging might scar me for life," Lamorak said.

"Especially if you wake up next to it," Owain said.

"Oi, what's wrong with --" Gwaine looked around. "If you lot have _that_ much of a problem with it, I'll sleep in between them to -- _owww_!"

"Next to me is fine," Perceval said, glancing down with a raised brow. Merlin smirked at the way Perceval was petting Gwaine's hair, at the dark scowl Gwaine shot up at him.

"Come on, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, breaking his silence. He tilted his head to indicate the pile of pillows on top of two sleeping bags set so close, they were overlapping.

Merlin smiled, lowered his eyes, and half-shook his head before squeezing between the couch and the armchair where Bohrs had laid claim, high-stepping over everything from bodies to pillows to food until he was sitting next to Arthur. Arthur took one long look at Merlin, his eyes trailing up and down in a way that made Merlin shiver, and asked, "You all right? It's been a long day. For you."

Merlin didn't miss the emphasis. They had all had a long day, but Arthur was right. More than anyone else, Merlin had been _working_ , doing what he could to stop flying tennis balls, cause distractions, manipulate matter, create illusions.

He hadn't used that much magic this constantly in a very long time.

"Yeah," Merlin said. He glanced at the opening credits of the movie. "Probably won't last through that."

"Don't, then," Arthur said, tilting his head toward the sleeping bags under them. Merlin took a closer look when he saw Arthur's raised brow and realized that the folded blankets were open toward each other, turning both into something closer to one wide sleeping bag. "Stretch out, yeah?"

Merlin gave Arthur a quick grin before sliding under the blanket and rolling onto his side, propping an elbow under two stacked pillows. Arthur shifted closer, his hand brushing Merlin's hip. Merlin didn't bother trying to suppress the involuntary shiver.

The last thing he remembered before someone shook him hard enough to roll him onto his belly while simultaneously pulling the pillows out from under him was hearing movie-Hatchet saying _so we can say he's good_ and movie-Barry answering _Better than good, he's a fuckin' liability_.

"Is he asleep?" someone asked.

"Merlin? Are you awake?" The warm breath and soft voice against his ear belonged to Arthur, just like the hand rubbing up and down his spine must belong to Arthur, ruffling his shirt. Merlin wanted to tell him to slide his hand _under_ the shirt, but whatever he mumbled was muffled by the remaining pillow that he was suffocating himself on.

He shifted his body, dragging his arms under the pillow, turning his head and body toward Arthur, and mumbled again.

Someone laughed. "What did he say?"

"I have absolutely no idea," Arthur said. "It sounded like either _leave me alone you fucking wankers, I'm tired_ , or _there's a screeching monkey in the room, please shoot it_. Your guess is as good as mine."

Merlin grumbled and reached out until he found Arthur's knee. He left his hand there.

"Out like a light, then?" Someone else said. Leon. Merlin thought that whoever was speaking, they sounded vaguely like Leon.

"Out like a light," Arthur confirmed.

Merlin felt a light brush of fingertips brushing through his hair. He could hear the movie. Laughter in the background. Bickering over a hand of cards. The crinkle of crisps bags, the clatter of beer bottles ringing.

"We can't let them get him," someone said, voice low and even and a little bit on the rumbly side. Merlin didn't remember anyone who sounded like Perceval in the movie. He didn't even think that was a line from the movie. It might have been, but what the Perceval-imitator said next definitely _wasn't_ part of the script. "After what he did this afternoon -- making everything stop, shifting the clouds --"

"That was bloody well amazing," Bohrs said. _Bohrs?_ Merlin wanted to wake up, to open his eyes and look around, and see for himself that it was all a dream, because there was no way that Bohrs, of all people, would sound that wistful, that awed.

"Absolutely was," Geraint said. "If I were him, if I had that power... Hell, I'd be on the dark side of the Force right now, doing bad things with a lightsaber."

There was a long silence.

"Seriously? You're comparing Merlin to a Jedi Knight? I think he's a little bit cooler than that," Owain said. He paused, and added, "But you tell him I said that, I'll deny it."

"He's _our_ Merlin," Lance said. Merlin's heart could burst, because no one spoke up to tell Lance that he was wrong.

"Can't let _anyone_ get him," Kay said.

"We won't," Arthur said, his voice soft, overwhelmed by the roar of a car engine and the screeches of tyres burning rubber on the telly, but Merlin heard him anyway. He felt Arthur's hand, fingers twining through his own.

Merlin squeezed. Arthur squeezed back, as if he'd known Merlin was awake all along. As if he'd meant for Merlin to hear the others talk, to know how they thought of him when Merlin couldn't possibly overhear. It made Merlin's heart warm, finally, with the hope that everything would be all right.

Just like Arthur kept saying.

The prat. There would be no living with him after this.

 

ooOOoo

 

In the end, Merlin and Arthur had the nice, long, relaxing day at the lake house that Merlin had wanted all along.

The morning had been cloudy, the field had been washed clear of any traces of their activities by the rain, their equipment had been packed away, and after a full English breakfast, the team had headed back to town. Leon had been anxious to leave -- something about Morgana having stabbed her bodyguard with a fork, Lance had plans with Gwen and his in-laws, and Owain's uncle from the London bomb squad had the day off and wanted to run some ideas past him. Gaius had gone with Lance, leaving Arthur and Merlin alone.

Well, mostly alone. The lazy Sunday had consisted of the four of them -- Arthur, Merlin, Gwaine, Perceval -- sitting around and watching movies while Bohrs and Kay had headed up the road to the nearby village and went a few holes of golf. They hadn't finished closing the house until nearly tea, stopped for a meal on the way back to London, and arrived at the flat sometime near midnight. Kay and Bohrs had taken the night shift, and the rest of them crashed out.

Morning came too quickly, with Arthur turning off the alarm before it woke Merlin, wanting him to get more sleep to recover from using all that magic. Arthur headed for a shower, and he smirked when he came out and saw the disaster area that the bed had turned into.

Merlin was curled up under a veritable mound of blankets, having dragged them all on top of himself while Arthur was in the bathroom, leaving just enough space around his head to watch Arthur head into the walk-in closet, coming out again with some clothes to get dressed.

"What are you, five?" Arthur asked.

"Soft bed. Comfy. Better than the barracks. Better than the guest room," Merlin said.

"Better than the hotel in Germany? Than the house in Paris?" Arthur asked, glancing over his shoulder at the moving lump on the bed while he buttoned up his shirt.

"Um. Tough call," Merlin said, sitting up in the smooth, languid way of a practiced porn star, enticing his prey closer. The only flaw in the tableau was his hair; it was a messy disaster of bed-head, sex-mess and several sleepy attempts to smooth it down, and was still ridiculously cute. "I passed out soon as I touched pillow in Dusseldorf, and I didn't do much sleeping in Paris. Before or after."

Arthur smirked. "We'll have to go back, then."

"Not sure I'm keen to," Merlin said, dragging all the pillows into a nest around himself. "At least, not Paris. Isn't Aredian still there?"

Arthur tucked his shirt into his trousers. "At last report, yes. He seemed to like you."

"He got me a gin and tonic. I mean, honestly?" Merlin rolled his eyes. "More like he's a bit cheap, looking for a quick blow."

This time, Arthur didn't glance over his shoulder; he turned around to raise a brow at Merlin. "You know my feelings on that."

Merlin grinned, stretching out on the bed. He bounced around a bit, kicking at the blankets as he made himself comfortable, propping himself up on his elbows. "And what feelings are those?"

"You really have to ask?" Arthur asked, raising a brow. "It comes down to one simple word, Merlin. _Mine_."

"My, my, my, but aren't we a bit possessive? Territorial? Protective?"

"Mine, _Mer_ lin. Mine," Arthur repeated, putting a bit of a threat in his tone. He had a hard time keeping his amusement from showing, though. "I'm a spoilt prat. There's not much out there that I want, and when I want it, I get it and keep it so that no one else can have it."

"So I'm an _it_ now?"

Arthur shot him a glare and turned back to the mirror, doing up his tie in a Windsor knot that he promptly loosened. He scowled at his reflection; he didn't like looking this scruffy, so he did it up again properly.

"Is that you or the role?" Merlin tilted his head, and Arthur watched him in the reflection of the body-length mirror, wishing to _God_ that Merlin didn't look so bloody tempting right now. The sight of him like that, mussed up, boneless, _inviting_ was making Arthur consider risking being on Morgana's bad side and suffering her vengeful sisterly ire for the rest of his life.

"Me. Definitely me," Arthur said. "Except for the spoilt prat part."

"Begs to be seen," Merlin said.

"Oi, being right cheeky today? You want me to slip into the role and give you a fresh shiner to match the one you already have?"

Merlin frowned and his lips rounded in a small moue.

"Well?"

"I'm thinking."

"You have to _think_ about it? No one wants to get hit, Merlin," Arthur said, dropping his hands and turning around again. His eyes narrowed in thought, and he took a few steps toward the bed. "Unless you're into that sort of thing? Is that one of your kinks?"

"Christ, no," Merlin said with a scowl. His face scrunched up in distaste, and Arthur could have kissed him right then and there, because hurting people for pleasure had never been one of his things. If he thought about it, it didn't make his list. At all. "I have, however, discovered a kink that's about your height, blond, fit, and bossy."

Arthur stared down at Merlin. Merlin looked up at him in something that Arthur could only describe as hopeful, but Arthur knew that expression very well. It tottered on the thin line between anxious and apprehensive. "You're trying to get me to stay, aren't you?"

"Is it working?"

"No," Arthur lied, and he turned away before he caved in. On the one hand, Merlin needed to find out on his own that the rest of the team wasn't going to put him through a the Spanish Inquisition's torture techniques as punishment for being magic -- there would be no _garrucha_ , no _toca_ , and no _potro_ , and definitely no hot coals. On the other, damn it, Arthur was supposed to be the dominant personality in the relationship -- contrived or otherwise, and right now, Merlin had the upper hand. Arthur fastened his watch on his wrist, clipped the belt holster to the small of his back, and pulled on his coat.

"Well, you're no fun," Merlin said. "What am I supposed to do in the meantime?"

Arthur tucked his wallet into his inner coat pocket. He checked the charge on his phone, unplugged it from the wall and shoved it next to his wallet. He grabbed a few odds and ends from the dresser -- mostly to distract himself -- before walking back to the bed.

"I'm glad you're feeling better -- must be, since you're a sight better than the walking zombie act you've been pulling over the last few, and it's almost as if someone twisted your _Horny_ knob all the way to full --

"I'm looking at that someone." Merlin raised a meaningful brow.

"-- not that I'm complaining, but after all the work you did at the house, I doubt you're a hundred-per after one solid night's sleep --"

"That could change with one great wake-up fuck," Merlin suggested, raising both eyebrows invitingly. If it weren't for the fact that half of Merlin was still covered by the blankets -- Arthur had definitely not missed the fleece pants that Merlin had left right outside the bathroom door in flagrant invitation -- that meeting with Morgana would be postponed in a heartbeat.

"-- so this is what's going to happen," Arthur said, not letting Merlin distract him. _Struggling_ to keep Merlin from distracting him, more like. "I'm meeting Morgana, but I'm planning to throw a tantrum, skiving off the meetings this evening, and coming back right after. I don't know how long I'm going to be, so I want you to text me every half hour --"

"Every half hour? Seriously?" All the _come-hither_ left Merlin in a sullen eye-roll. Merlin sat up and rubbed his hand through his hair, reacting too late when Arthur picked up Merlin's discarded pair of jeans from the floor, riffled through the pockets until he found the phone, and thumbed his way past Merlin's security. "Hey! What are you doing?"

"Setting up the alarm. Every half hour," Arthur said, walking out of Merlin's scrambling reach. "If Morgana can put up with doing this because Leon will panic otherwise, then you can do it for me."

"I knew giving you the password was a bad idea," Merlin said, slumping back on the bed.

"You can crack _anyone_ 's password. It was only fair," Arthur reminded him. "You're texting or calling every half hour, Merlin--"

"Yeah, whatever --"

"-- no, listen to me, I'm serious. These are the rules. My rules, not just spoilt-prat me rules. Even if you weren't in danger, I'd want to keep tabs on you, yeah?" Merlin grunted something that Arthur took as assent, and continued, "So for today, stay put. Get some rest. Eat. Kay is downstairs, and I'm telling him to make sure you eat. He'll force-feed you if you don't. Work on your dragon -- the damn thing keeps _hissing_ at me --"

"It didn't recognize you, that's all. I'm working on a facial recognition program --"

"Well, it sucks so far. And please. Unpack our things from the weekend, yeah?" Arthur paused. They had gotten in too late the night before to clean up and put things away, but the sight of the bags next to the door reminded him of the last time he'd seen Merlin's kit all done up, as if he'd been thinking of leaving. "If you did pull a runner, where would you go?"

"I'm not," Merlin said, raising a brow.

"If you were?" Arthur prompted.

"I'd leave you a note with the dragon," Merlin said.

"The thing speaks?" Arthur asked, raising a brow.

"It will," Merlin said with a grin, and Arthur shook his head, because he really didn't want to know. He leaned down -- fully intending to tilt Merlin's head back but finding that Merlin was already moving to meet him halfway, as if they'd done this exact thing a million times already -- and kissed him, soft, light, fleeting, before pulling away.

Arthur didn't want to risk anything more than that, or he would be doomed never to leave the bedroom.

"Gwaine's with me today, Perce is coming in at eight tonight, and I'll order in takeaway, yeah?" He pointed at Merlin once he was far enough away. "Rest."

He shut the door on Merlin's protest.

Arthur had enough time for a quick protein-based liquid breakfast, to flick on the coffee maker for Kay -- who was staring at the contraption as if it might grow arms and legs and bite him -- and meet Gwaine at the car. It wasn't until they'd pulled into an unsurprising snarl of London traffic that either one of them spoke.

"How is he?" Gwaine asked.

"Better," Arthur said. "Not convinced, not yet, but better."

Gwaine did something with the car to get them out of being boxed in that was probably, most definitely very illegal and Arthur resigned himself to the potential of getting a ticket courtesy of traffic CCTV. Arthur took out his phone, glancing at the message that buzzed in.

_U prat u set it evry hlf hr on the hr_

He texted back. _Yes, dear._

Arthur looked at Gwaine, at the unshaven scruff of his jaw, at the dark under his eyes that told tales of a man who hadn't gotten much sleep. "How about you?"

"What about me?"

"How are you?" Arthur asked.

"I'm aces, mate," Gwaine said, slowing down to a stop at the red light. He scanned the area, keeping an eye on the mirrors -- either he was trying to keep up his act as a bodyguard, or he was actively trying to avoid Arthur's gaze. Arthur was banking on the latter. He waited. Gwaine stepped on the accelerator when the light turned green, and didn't say anything until they hit another, frustrating red light one block away. "I'll be fine."

"So will Merlin," Arthur said. "I'd tell you to kiss and make up --"

"Please do," Gwaine said, flashing Arthur a tired grin that was more on reflex than anything else.

"-- but I have absolutely no bloody intention of doing you any favours where Merlin is concerned," Arthur said, and he meant it. Giving Gwaine _any_ sort of liberty in this case was tantamount to relationship suicide. It wasn't that he didn't trust Merlin; it was that he _knew_ not to trust Gwaine.

"You always sucked at sharing," Gwaine muttered under his breath.

"Besides, you wouldn't want to break Perce's heart, would you?" Arthur asked.

"If he'd just _give it up_ , then there wouldn't be any hearts breaking," Gwaine said, rolling his eyes. He managed to pull onto a road relatively free of cars and zip through to the other end, tapping his foot impatiently before forcing a merge with scant centimetres to spare.

"Maybe you need to ask what it would take for that to happen," Arthur said, accessing his personal email on his phone. He heard Gwaine grumble, _it would help if he'd spell it out for me_ while he deleted a half-dozen messages.

He barely glanced up when Gwaine drove into the underground parking.

Arthur had a privileged spot on one of the secure lower levels with a direct elevator to his floor; the other lucky staff members who were permitted to leave their cars there were forced take one flight of concrete stairs to an upper level to the employee elevators. From down below to the very top -- Uther Pendragon had some funny ideas about privilege, because the elevator trip took _forever_ \-- Arthur went to his office after first checking his watch. He had a few minutes to try to make a gouge in the nearly constant flow of emails that had been coming to his inbox since his being seconded to the Directory under cover of taking a more active role in the company.

For the time being, he didn't have a personal assistant, and after Gwaine checked out his office and private bathroom, taking particular care to inspect out the hidden compartment that was Arthur's _for business guests only, damn it Gwaine_ liquor cabinet, he made himself comfortable at the solid oak desk that was positioned outside of the office. Arthur dropped his business case on a plush leather chair and took a long look around; someone had been coming in regularly to keep the area dusted and sorted, but he had no idea if the room had been cleared for surveillance, internal or otherwise.

He'd have to take pains to conduct certain types of business outside of the building.

Arthur had barely sat down at his terminal -- a new, slick model with a military shine that could probably blind a few of the surveillance satellites currently in orbit -- and booted it up when Morgana slammed the door open, aborting her usual blustering entrance to turn around and argue with someone right behind her.

"I don't need the room checked for me, you ninny -- You see him?" Morgana swept a hand in Gwaine's direction, just barely visible past Morgana's frame. Gwaine was leaning back in his chair, feet up on the desk, his hands cradled in his lap. He smiled at the other person and waved his fingers in the air. " _This_ is my brother's bodyguard. Do you think he wouldn't already have made sure that there weren't some _idiots_ hiding inside?"

"Someone might be in there who would cause you harm," the bodyguard offered, still intent on coming into the office ahead of Morgana.

"I might shoot her," Arthur offered, half-smirking as he entered his password into the system. The Pendragon logo -- an artistic rendition of the heraldic crest that Arthur absolutely _loathed_ had been designated the desktop background. He was going to have to change that to something that suited more the prat he was supposed to be.

Maybe a photo of Merlin starkers.

That would suit him regardless of the role. Arthur made a mental note to take a picture the next time Merlin decided to position himself invitingly on the bed, short-circuiting Arthur's attempts to get to work.

"No, no, no, get the bloody _hell_ out of here," Morgana screeched. Arthur loaded his email program.

"But he said that he would shoot you --" said the alarmed bodyguard. Arthur glanced up at the crunch of the man's cheap pleather-soled shoes on his nice, expensive hand-hooked Berber rug. "I can't, in good conscience, allow you to stay --"

"You muppet!" Morgana was having a meltdown, and that was always fun to watch. Apparently Gwaine thought so, too, because he was looking around as if searching for popcorn. "He's my _brother_. If he were going to shoot me, rest assured he would have done it a long time ago."

Arthur leaned back, scrolling through the nine hundred (and change) company-wide notification emails that he could probably file appropriately -- assuming that the proper folder was called _Deleted_ , and started to review the direct reports from the department heads. "Are you coming in or going out? Because I frankly could care less. I've had my fill of soap operas for the day."

Morgana whirled around in an accusing flounce. "And here I thought you were late because you were fucking your boy toy. How is poor Merlin not completely _raw_ by now?"

"It's called lube, Morgana. You might have heard of it. Or you would have, if you didn't bloody well orgasm every time you slapped on a strap-on to screw people until they screamed for mercy," Arthur said, and he had the satisfaction of seeing Morgana's bodyguard turn beet red. Gwaine, behind him, was grinning.

Morgana's eyes narrowed in something approximating perverse pleasure, and she said, "Lube is for limp-wristed poofs who are worried about shoving their cocks in narrow holes and doing a Beckham bend on their dicks."

Oh, so it was a _contest_ , Arthur saw, to see which one of them would be the first to embarrass the bodyguard into leaving.

"I _like_ fucking Merlin," Arthur said. "I'd like to _keep_ fucking him. I'm sorry that I can't be more like you, Morgana, breaking every toy you've ever had."

"I don't break my toys!"

"Is that the latest one?" He gestured behind her, and looked at the bodyguard. "Has she shown you her dildo collection? She likes to start people off using the one she affectionately calls Everest. F.Y.I. She doesn't call it Everest because she hopes to help her partners reach the top of their climax with it."

He held his hands out about a foot and a half apart and mouthed, _It's this big_.

The bodyguard took an involuntary step back. Morgana, like the shark she was, whirled around and stared at him until he backed all the way out the door, half-intimidated by a stare that could turn the most chauvinistic pillock into a thumb-sucking, diaper-wearing executive crying for his mommy, half-encouraged by Gwaine's _sotto voce_ whispers to "Save yourself, mate, while you still can."

Morgana slammed the door in his face, turned around again, and gave Arthur her patented _see the idiots I have to work with?_ glare before stomping her Dolce  & Gabbana stilettos to Arthur's desk. She slammed down the file folders tucked under her arm and sat down in the plush leather guest chair in a giant sulk.

It wasn't anywhere near as effective at convincing Arthur as Merlin's version.

"Give him a break," Arthur said.

"He's _annoying!_. He flipped out because he found a _tampon_ on my desk --"

"Woah!" The word _tampon_ did so many bad things to Arthur's male psyche that he didn't want to hear any more in case the damage became irreparable. Arthur held up his hands in capitulation. "I don't want to hear it. And, quite frankly, I don't blame him for flipping out --"

"Oh, don't be a bloody nancy," Morgana said. She paused, glaring at him through hooded eyes. "At least you don't have someone dogging your heels every time you go to the filing cabinet! Or frisking people who come in asking if I'd like to go for coffee! Or --"

"He's doing his job," Arthur said.

"And what, exactly, is his job?" Morgana threw up a hand. "Driving me nutters?"

"A bit late for that." Arthur smirked. More seriously, he said, "The Colonel doesn't want you unprotected. He gave Leon a list of his top men; Leon picked Bernard out for you --"

"And if he's the best either of them came up with?"

"Morgana --" Arthur said, not bothering to try to placate her, because _placating_ , however well done, had the opposite desired effect on Morgana. Arthur fully intended returning home with his family jewels exactly where they were. "There was a kidnapping attempt. It could have been worse than it was."

"Why didn't they kidnap _you_? You're the prodigal son."

"I can also kill someone with my bare hands," Arthur said calmly, in his best _if you know something but you're not telling me there's going to be consequences_ tone, and Morgana stilled. He could tell that she knew exactly what he wanted to know, that he wanted to know it _now_ , but that it would have to wait.

"I'm a better shot than you are," Morgana said. She raised her eyebrows in an imperious gesture that Arthur recognized as her version of saying _Can we talk about this later?_

"I seriously doubt that," Arthur said, nodding at her unspoken suggestion. "If you don't stop terrorizing your bodyguards, they're not going to take a bullet for you."

"I'll stop terrorizing them when they stop being idiots. Why don't you just give me one of your men? At least they seem halfway competent," Morgana said, thumbing over her shoulder at what Arthur expected was Gwaine's general direction.

"You just want an excuse to spend more time with Leon," Arthur said.

"Wouldn't you?"

"Only if he shaved on a regular basis," Arthur said. He tapped his finger on the desk thoughtfully. It would be useful to have one of his team watching Morgana -- and Gwen, too, just to be on the safe side. "I'll talk to Leon. Can we get started on these... whatever it is _these_ are, so that I can go back to fucking Merlin?"

Morgana tilted her head and rolled her eyes. "Can't you keep it in your pants for a while longer? I thought we could go for lunch afterward. Your treat."

 

ooOOoo

 

 _I don't know_ was not an acceptable answer to any question asked by a member of the Pendragon family.

Morgana should know. She might not be a Pendragon by blood, but making it her business to know everything was a survival tactic in that household. Knowing everything, however, didn't mean that she had to answer every question asked with her hard-earned morsels of precious information, and Morgana made it a personal practice to never, ever giving up the goods until she knew she was getting something in return, whether it was perverse pleasure at stringing someone along, manipiulatinga situation because the person didn't have any business knowing in the first place, or watching Uther turn a lovely shade of infuriated purple because Morgana wasn't giving him what he wanted.

In Morgana's opinion, Uther didn't remember what it was like having to do all the work himself. He'd been at the top of the food chain for too long; a big fish in a sea of prawns, the not-quite-armchair General who stood at the very back of the skirmish line, barking orders for the foot-soldiers that the foot-soldiers couldn't hop-to to do fast enough, whether it was _shoot the bloody bastards!_ or _where's my goddamn tea?_

He didn't go out to gather information; he had people to come and tell him things. A glance at his schedule would drive the most organized businessman in a jealous tizzy, because Uther's days consisted a long string of meetings, clandestine or otherwise, with business associations named by name, and the secret-not-so-secret appointments marked down in a series of numbers that meant something to no one but Uther.

And possibly Arthur.

Morgana's mother had married Uther in a whirlwind, scandalous rumour-causing civil union less than a year after his first wife passed away and well before Arthur's first birthday. There were no wedding pictures, no guests, only a few witnesses, and the only proof that _something_ had occurred to cement the relationship was the marriage license printed on cheap cardboard stock rotting in the bottom of Uther's desk drawer and a photograph hastily tucked away in an album. The photo was of Uther, Morgana's mother, a few men and women she had never met, but had long since identified, and two baby carriers, the lot of them at a chintzy-looking restaurant with dubious health standards, looking as if they should be smiling and happy, but looking dour and serious instead.

Morgana and Arthur had agreed a long time ago that their parents probably got married because Uther needed a child-minder while he went off to war and Morgana's mother, however beautiful, was at heart something of a gold-digger. Morgana, never charitable toward people unless they deserved it, didn't think much of Uther as a parent, but he was, at the very least, _a parent_.

That was more than she could say about her mother, who had _left_ after two paltry years of marriage, tired of living on a military wage, tired of living on a military base, tired of getting up and moving again and _again_ to a different post somewhere in the godforsaken backend of the world, tired of having children -- one of whom wasn't her own -- _cramping her style_.

Uther might have continued a distinguished military career that would have seen him at the very top of the military brass if not for Morgana's mother. The quick-and-dirty divorce that was finalized within hours of Uther's plane touching down on British soil -- the last time he would take a military transport to go off on some far-flung mission -- left him without a good chunk of his pension, a quarter of what was originally in his bank account, and two constantly squabbling, screaming, crying children in desperate need of discipline and affection.

While there was plenty of discipline and the occasional stilted attempt at affection, there hadn't been enough money, not until Uther reached down into the very firmament of the British empire and dragged the fledging Pendragon Consulting out of the earth with his own two hands.

The irony was that Morgana's mother had left Uther for someone with _money_ , money that was lost in a stock market crash in the late 1980s. The remnants of their finances had been completely destroyed a short time later in a fervent attempt to maintain the extravagant lifestyle in which she was accustomed to by investing in a gold mine company that didn't have any gold.

Pendragon Consulting had weathered the crash without so much as a blip to commemorate a moment that should have given Uther perverse, vengeful satisfaction.

Knowing him, he might even have cracked a smile in private.

There had been nothing to mark the day that Morgana's mother drank herself stupid and wrapped her car around a tree, nothing but the brief conversation at dinner that same evening.

_"Children," Uther said, leaning back to let the kitchen staff remove his plate. He crossed his arms on the table, and looked first at Arthur -- always first at Arthur -- and at Morgana. "Morgana's mother is dead. It was a terrible accident."_

_Morgana and Arthur exchanged a glance, at first not knowing who it was that Uther was talking about, because neither of them had been old enough to even remember her when she'd left them. "Oh. Okay," Morgana said. Arthur watched Morgana with a thoughtful look for all of ten seconds before shrugging, and that had been that._

_Dessert was lavish cinnamon bread pudding with a generous helping of vanilla -- real vanilla -- ice cream, and they were allowed to stay up late that night, well past their bedtime, and to skip school the next day._

There were times when Uther acted like any other father, showing up at school plays, driving his children around to activities -- usually firearms practice, or Karate, or whatever else Uther believed they needed to grow up into well-rounded individuals. There were times when Uther was distant and reserved, preoccupied with whatever business that kept him away from home, or whatever business that followed him home, chasing him into the dark recesses of his office and blocking his children out with the thick, oak door that had always been, and would always be, an ominous reminder that there was at least one thing in Uther's life more important than Morgana and Arthur. Uther was the sort of man who was either all in for his children -- in his own, strict, disciplinarian, high-expectations sort of way, or all elsewhere, and still demanding a great deal from them.

Only the paternity test -- demanded when Morgana was sixteen and in a petulant fit of _I don't want anything to do with you, you're not my real dad_ pique -- proved that Uther was not, by any means, Morgana's biological father, and that he should, by rights, have cut the strings right then and there. Instead of being the bastard that Morgana knew he could be, Uther had left copies of her adoption papers on her pillow with a short, message on yellow post-it note written in block lettering.

 _"Yes, you are,"_ it had said. Pride -- and a fair bit of residual anger -- had kept Morgana from asking him what that meant.

It was Arthur, bloody snoop that he was, who had found the papers and the note crumpled and shoved deep in her underwear drawer, adding his own message in his precise, cursive script, that Morgana had never noticed until much later, when she moved away for university.

_"... his daughter. ...my sister."_

Arthur had underlined "my sister" a dozen times.

Morgana knew things, but Arthur knew _people_ , in a maddening, infuriating _see-through-you_ kind of way, and he knew it on a deep, instinctive level that Morgana could never hope to attain. Where Arthur simply _looked_ and understood people's motivations, how they might go about dealing with a situation, what steps they might take to achieve their goals, how to convince them to take a different approach, abandon their intent, or change the end result entirely, Morgana learned that skill through trial and error. Like Morgana, Arthur had learned the merit in knowing _things_ , however useless, and he had the immensely annoying talent for remembering absolutely everything, down to the most minute, irrelevant detail.

Where Arthur was a _menace_ when he used his natural ability to read people, he was an absolute, complete royal pain in the arse when he used it in conjunction with _information_ to manipulate them. He was so good at it. That was the problem.

There were times when Morgana stood in awe of her brother. When she didn't feel as if she measured up. When she felt out of her depth -- when they were both out of their depths, but where Arthur would tread the water with bold, confident strokes, propelling himself ever closer to shore, Morgana would flounder in a pathetic, thrashing dog paddle until he found a life-ring, tossed it to her, and dragged her to safety.

She didn't like feeling weak. In the Pendragon household, knowledge was power, and Morgana didn't like not _knowing_.

Arthur and Morgana were at a restaurant that neither one of them had ever been to before but had heard about, at least, so the food couldn't be _that_ bad. They were here, instead of their usual place, in an absurd attempt to shake off anyone following them or who might set up surveillance ahead of time. She had only _graciously_ agreed to coming to this place because she had a very clear agenda in mind.

But first, she had to ensure their privacy. She didn't mind Gwaine -- who was obviously involved in on whatever Arthur was involved in, but Bernard was another story. Morgana got rid of her absolute _nincompoop_ of a bodyguard by sentencing him to the far end of the seating area with a _for the love of God, will you leave me alone_ shriek that echoed through the nearly-empty restaurant.

"Harpy," Arthur said, holding out her chair for her, giving her a meaningful gesture. "If you're finished attracting attention?"

"I am," Morgana said sweetly, slipping into her seat. Arthur sighed with the knowledge that, _of course_ she wasn't finished, and sat down across from her, his chair moved away from the table, stretching his legs out before crossing them at the ankle. Arthur glanced around the restaurant with the same insouciant, dismissive glance he'd given the reception area of the Executives Floor of the Pendragon building, the parking garage where their cars had been parked side by side, and the street where the restaurant was located. Arthur had always looked at things like that, with a quick, evaluating glance around, but now, it struck Morgana that there might be a sinister reason why.

Morgana refused to let Arthur make her paranoid.

The waiter took their drink orders -- a white wine spritzer for Morgana, a Scotch for Arthur. Arthur gave her a speculative look that she could only guess at, so she made an errant stab at what he was thinking. "I'm sure Merlin appreciates the break."

"You need a new scriptwriter, 'gana," Arthur said. "Your lines are getting old."

The drinks arrived promptly. "If you'd like to order appetizers..."

"We'll call when we want something. Go away," Arthur said, his voice flat and bored, with just the right touch of menace to his tone to send the waiter running in something of a huff. He studied her before saying, "Leon tells me your nightmares are back."

"After what happened, are you surprised?" Morgana snapped. Her nightmares were a touchy subject that several psychologists chalked up to the repercussions of her mother having abandoned her when she was young. Therapy hadn't helped, herbal medication tasted awful and messed up her hormones. She'd tried a few crackpot remedies only to leave afterward feeling embarrassed; and when even PTSD treatment failed, the doctors finally caved in to Uther's pressure and prescribed sleep aids.

The low-dose sedatives had turned into high-dose benzodiazepines by the time she'd gone off to university. There were stronger, better drugs now, but the perpetually-filled bottle in her medicine cabinet had not helped quell the nightmares that had haunted her since Paris.

"No," Arthur said. "You're a fragile little flower, but there's no need to take it out on Leon."

Morgana raised a brow. She'd been told that the team was on an undercover mission, that Uther was aware of it, and that each member of Excalibur, Arthur included, was expected to carry themselves a certain way. Arthur had always been something of a privileged twat in his teens -- no less and no more than Morgana herself -- but the abject rudeness was out of character for him.

Morgana leaned back in her chair, taking her wine spritzer with her, pursing her lips and narrowing her eyes as if trying to divine what it was that Arthur was thinking. It was usually easier to figure out when she knew what was going on --

Abruptly, she put her wine glass down, and folded her arms on the table. "I want to know everything."

"Hm," Arthur said, breaking eye contact to scan the room before reaching into his coat pocket to glance at his phone again -- _again_ , like he'd been doing for every bloody half hour on the bloody hour -- and respond to the text that had come in.

"Starting with that," Morgana said, raising a brow.

Arthur gave her a considering look before raising his phone to show it to her. "This? It's a phone, Morgana. I knew you were tech-illiterate, but I didn't know you were this bad."

"I am not talking about -- Oh, for --" Morgana got up, stalked around the table, grabbed the lapels of Arthur's coat, and yanked out the phone with a noise of triumph. Arthur didn't protest, didn't struggle, didn't try to wrench it back like he normally would, and her feeling of success was short-lived. She discovered not only a password lock, but a password screen that wasn't the standard numeric keypad -- it was an alphanumeric keypad with squares for random symbols and the Greek alphabet.

"Oi, what am I paying you for?" Arthur asked Gwaine, incensed.

Gwaine shrugged. "Learned a long time ago, mate, never get between siblings unless one of them has a gun or sharp, pointy objects. As lovely as Morgana's tits are, I don't think they qualify as sharp, pointy objects."

"Why, _thank you_ , Gwaine," Morgana said, and rounded onto Arthur, holding up his phone. "Tell me why your phone's going off every bloody minute."

"For the same reason you've been texting Leon every half hour." Arthur looked up at her with a small smile on his lips that didn't match the cold hardness in his eyes, and Morgana felt a small chill rise up her spine. "Merlin is calling me to let me know that he's all right."

"I knew you were possessive, but this is a ridiculously short leash." Morgana barked a sharp laugh, but it was a laugh that faded when she didn't see an answering spark of amusement in Arthur's expression. "You're serious."

Arthur pried the phone from her fingers, and as he worked, he spoke quietly, "The woman who lured you out of the Louvre is somehow associated with an organization that we have been tasked to infiltrate. Before were even aware of their existence, they made similar overtures toward Merlin."

"What?" Morgana sat down heavily, but it was Gwaine who saved her from landing on her arse by adroitly slipping a chair under her while she was on her way down. He patted her shoulder before returning to his table nearby.

"Your turn, Morgana," Arthur said, offering her his drink.

She took it gratefully and swung it back in one go, trying not to grimace as the foul liquid burned down her throat. "They've been after Merlin?"

"Your turn, Morgana," Arthur repeated, and she knew she wouldn't be able to break past the Pendragon steel that she was getting now. Arthur wore it like armour, impenetrable and unrelenting.

Morgana took a deep breath and said, "She said her name was Morgause Delamontagne, that she worked for Interpol, and that she was tracking some suspicious illegal arms shipments her informants claimed were coming directly from Pendragon's warehouses."

"An insider," Arthur said, and Morgana had the urge to hit him.

"That's what she said. You're not surprised."

"Not hardly," Arthur said. "Go on."

"Oh, no, dear Arthur. We are playing give-and-take today. It's your turn." Morgana paused, because a subtle shift in Arthur's body language warned her of the arriving waiter, replenishing Arthur's drink with the deftness of someone who was hoping for a large tip.

"This organization's recruitment has a very specific type of person. They're interested in Merlin because he fits this profile. He has skills that make him extremely valuable," Arthur said. Morgana could tell that Arthur was holding something back.

"And what are those?"

"That's confidential," Arthur said with a heavy sigh. "Try all you like, but your security clearance doesn't allow for it."

"What does it allow for, then?"

"It's your turn, Morgana," Arthur said patiently. "From the beginning. Leon would never have left you alone. And you were _stupid_ to go with her. How did it happen?"

Morgana sighed, feeling her shoulders slump the way they did when she was cornered -- the way she could only be cornered by Arthur -- and forced herself to sit up straight, her shoulders back. "We were talking nonsense. Hello, how are you. Nice party, did you see that painting in the hallway, I'm sure it's a fake. Exchanged names, made fun of a few women's dresses, mocked the man in the blue tuxedo who couldn't possibly come anywhere but from the United States.

"She moved behind me at some point," Morgana continued, seeing Arthur nod, and she wondered if there had been security footage at the party. "She says something I don't understand, and when I turn around, she smiles at me and asks if I know where the loo is, and if I wouldn't mind showing her where it was.

"I checked with Leon. I did. He told me to go ahead." Morgana had played it over and over in her head, but she was convinced that there had been something wrong with Leon at the time, because he had been _adamant_ that she not leave him for any reason without telling him, and there he was, waving her off as if she were just going to _powder her nose_ with one of her friends. Arthur's eyes narrowed slightly, and she said, "I didn't think it was odd. Not right away. Afterwards, I did, but..."

Arthur nodded in that infuriatingly understanding way that he did and waited for her to continue.

"As soon as we were out of sight, she takes my arm and leads me away from the loo. I pulled away and that's when she told me who she was. Interpol. They're watching Pendragon Consulting. She has questions to ask me because I'm in a sensitive position and could investigate without suspicion and without alerting the insider. They're talking to me now, at the party, instead of calling me or making an appointment or whatever, because they suspect that the person they're looking at is very high up, because who else would have access to the information?"

"What information?"

"Everything. Production runs. Packing dates. Shipping dates. Destinations. Contract work. Research and Development. _Everything_ , Arthur. I called it all bollocks, because it was all talk, and I had yet to see her ID. She told me that I would have to go with her so that she can show me the evidence, that she didn't dare bring her ID to the party in order to make sure she wouldn't compromise my safety or her cover.

"I tell her that I can't, there's no way, I have to tell Leon where I'm going first, but she grabs me and pulls me around, and I'm half-ready to punch her in the face, but her eyes are bright, _bloody_ orange and she's blathering out _gobbledygook_ , and... and..." Morgana could hear her own voice raising into something she had called the _stupid horror movie victim shriek_ once, during a particularly bad B-movie party at her house, years ago. She pressed her lips together and said, her tone hushed, "The next thing I remember is _shooting_ and explosions and everyone screaming and Leon yanking me into a corner and _shielding_ me --"

Morgana slowed down and faltered. Arthur didn't look surprised _at all_.

"... and there's all this screaming and I'm seeing you running up the alley, and Merlin's on the ground on his knees _ruining his brand new tuxedo_ and everyone has their gun pointed at _him_ , and..." Morgana caught herself again.

Arthur didn't say anything. His eyes drifted over Morgana's shoulder, probably to share a glance with Gwaine, then drifted again to the table. His fingers wrapped around the empty tumbler, swirling it, as if trying to drain out every last drop of the glass so that he could have a drink.

"May I refresh your drink?" the waiter said, appearing at Morgana's shoulder.

"Obviously," Arthur said dryly, but he didn't let go of his glass.

The waiter didn't look as if he wanted to risk his hand by taking the empty from the table, but he was still sticking his head out for the tip. "Would you like an appetizer --"

"Whatever the chef has on special," Arthur said, waving him away.

Morgana glanced over her shoulder, watching him go, making sure he was out of earshot. She lashed out to grab Arthur's arm, her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his wrist. "Uncle Sol told me that this was a straight-up undercover job, that you're playing the role of a spoilt playboy who's more interested in the dosh you can't get out of your trust fund because daddy dearest has it tied up in knots, that you're the lure for some arms dealer who's exporting equipment that's a shoddy knock-off of Pendragon gear, so, you tell me, Arthur. _What the fuck?_ "

There was a long, long staring match between them, her green eyes against his blue, and neither one of them blinked for a long time. It was a game that neither one had ever lost, a game that neither of them had ever won, because someone always walked between them and interrupted. This time, it was the waiter, with a basket of freshly-baked bread rolls and cantaloupe-spoon-scooped swirls of iced butter. "The _escargot_ and baked brie appetizers will be ready shortly."

"Yes, yes, do take your time," Morgana snapped. She raised her voice. "Gwaine, be a dear. If he interrupts again, please shoot him."

"Yes'm," Gwaine said, and it seemed as if Gwaine took Morgana _seriously_. She frowned at him, but, like Arthur, she couldn't read his expression.

Arthur leaned forward, his elbow on his knee. He crooked a finger for Morgana to come closer, and she did, though cautiously, because she was never sure if Arthur was about to tell her something confidential or very quietly tell her to shove off.

He did neither. "What did you find out?"

Morgana straightened. "Pardon?"

"'gana, we both know that someone makes allegations of any sort against the company, the first thing you'll do is dig up every bit of dirt you can on the person who said them, and the second thing you'll do is verify whether or not they're right so that you don't have to apologize for prematurely cutting their heads off," Arthur said. He made a gesture with his hands. "So, give over. What do you know?"

Morgana smiled sweetly at him -- Arthur could really say the nicest things about her sometimes. There were few people who would. She tilted her head and said, "Not so fast."

She turned in her seat and reached over to tap Gwaine on the shoulder. Gwaine, who was sitting well within earshot but was studiously pretending not to be listening in, rolled his head toward her with a bored shoulder-shrug. Morgana wasn't fooled -- _couldn't_ be fooled -- by Gwaine's act. She'd known him for a long time. She also knew that at the moment, the trophy for the Deadliest Person in The Room already had Arthur's name engraved on a nice little bronze plaque affixed to the base.

"Gwaine, darling."

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"Why did were you going to shoot Merlin?"

Morgana wished that she had some of Arthur's insight on people, because she didn't understand the quick sidelong glance when Gwaine broke eye contact, and she didn't understand when he looked at her again and didn't look away. She didn't understand why his body went rigid, why his smile was stretched with a little less of its usual rogue, or why the usual rumbling lilt in his voice had burst as flat as a collapsed balloon.

"He surprised me, is all. He did something I didn't expect him to do."

"And what was that?"

"He saved your life," Gwaine said, raising a brow.

"I'm not sure I like you anymore," Morgana said, frowning at him. She turned to Arthur, and it was only by the grace of having known him his whole life that she was able to tell that there was something else going on between Arthur and Gwaine and maybe even Merlin, too, and she couldn't resist the barb. "Does Merlin know you two used to fuck?"

"He knows," Arthur said calmly, his eyes cold and as unyielding as the iceberg that struck down the Titanic. Morgana shivered, because she didn't need Arthur's skills at reading people to know what that look meant. If she had to describe it, she would say that it was the _if you even try to fuck things up between me and Merlin, I will have you skinned, drawn and quartered, boiled in oil, and set on fire_ look.

And Arthur, like Uther, carried through on his threats, verbal and otherwise.

"Our inventories don't match up," Morgana said in appeasement.

Arthur's expression darkened. "Yeah?"

"Do you remember years ago, when we first started at the company, we had to deal with that huge insurance investigation because a few cases went missing sometime between being signed out of the warehouses and before they arrived at their destination?" Morgana could tell that Arthur remembered that very well; it had consumed their entire summer. A few cases going missing was nothing new; they had learned that it was the price of doing business, that sometimes, a gun here and a gun there would disappear, even if the staff in the shipping and receiving department had pristine, immaculate reputations. Pendragon claimed thefts; the insurance company didn't think so and threatened to lay charges and had involved the police. The investigation turned up absolutely nothing by way of evidence, the insurance company paid through the nose, gave them a list printed on a small forest's worth of paper of security measures to implement if Pendragon ever wanted to be insured for anything ever again, and slapped them with a large overhead and a ridiculous deductible.

The thefts of a mindless few cases per shipment dropped to almost nothing for a few months. After that, it got worse.

"Then with the hijacking," Arthur said, his eyes narrowing in thought. He was doing it again, Morgana knew, linking up bits of knowledge with times and dates and assorted other information, coming up with motivations and purposes and _reasons_ the way Morgana never could.

Scotland Yard and a small army of government types got involved at that time, once again eliminating any Pendragon staff from suspicion, once again giving the company a small headache in terms of _security_ and _legislation_ and _watch lists_. For nearly two years afterward, Morgana had received calls from one of the ruggedly-handsome, in a young Sean Connery sort of way, detectives, who chatted her up in reminder that they were _still investigating_.

The calls stopped when the detective quit the Yard to found his own private investigation company.

The thefts, the disappearances, the attacks -- they had all decreased in frequency as Pendragon increased their security, but at the end of each quarter, when the books were balanced, there was still a noticeable loss on the order of a net-negligible one-point-five million dollars.

On average.

For the last few quarters.

Not for the sum of thefts or missing equipment or damage over the last ten years. Not for the last year total. The last _bloody quarter_.

Morgana told Arthur all this in a quiet, hushed tone, stopping only when the waiter came over to deliver the appetizers, returning a second time to put a plate in front of Gwaine.

"The insurance companies aren't breathing down our necks anymore because we've done everything they've asked and then some," Morgana said. Arthur was being strangely silent, and she was convinced that everything she'd told him thus far didn't come as a surprise, but she pressed on. "Most of the missing inventory isn't going missing locally or at any of the European factories. They're going missing under cover of war, and the government is swallowing the costs."

Arthur's mask slipped a little, and he pressed his lips in a scowl of disgust, not at the information, but at the _confirmation_ , Morgana realized.

"Inside job?"

" _Someone_ knows an awful lot about our manufacturing schedules and shipping and distribution practices, no matter how many times we change them," Morgana said. She stood up abruptly, and under the pretence of adjusting her dress, slipped an USB drive from her pocket and left it on the table, sliding it neatly under one of the plates. She sat down across from Arthur. "But I don't know who."

Arthur exhaled in a deep heavy sigh that Morgana recognized as abject irritation. He rubbed his forehead and said, "All right. It's not implausible that Morgause is Interpol or that she'd want to talk to you about the missing inventory. It's not improbable that she would abandon you to a bunch of thugs who attack you in an alley, because she's more concerned with maintaining her cover."

Morgana raised a brow. "That's not what happened."

"It's how Interpol will spin it if Interpol is involved," Arthur said, leaning forward to spear the butter-drenched escargot and slide it onto his plate with a bit of green that might have been parsley. Morgana noted with satisfaction that Arthur palmed the USB drive at the same time in a smooth sleight of hand. "But I'm going to tell you three things, and I want you to think about them before you answer."

Morgana cut a tiny slice of the fried Brie. "All right."

"First," Arthur began, pausing to glance around, "If Interpol is involved, they're over their heads. Way, way over. If they're involved and wanted to use you as an inside source, why would Morgause leave you to the wolves instead of running away?"

"I wondered about that myself," Morgana said, shivering involuntarily.

"Second," Arthur said, moving the escargot around on his plate as if trying to decide if it were edible, "The thugs in the alley had too much firepower to be random thugs, they were conveniently and coincidentally well-informed for place, time, and location. If they were random thugs, they wouldn't have been there."

Morgana decided that she wasn't hungry after all and left the Brie on her plate. She reached for her spritzer instead, wishing she'd ordered something stronger. "And three?"

"Three," Arthur said, "The members of the organization we're hunting down? It could be anyone. Even this Morgause Delamontagne from Interpol."

Morgana _definitely_ needed something stronger.

 

ooOOoo

 

It was worse than he'd thought.

There were more thefts than had been reported to the insurance companies; written off internally because, ultimately, reporting it to the insurance companies was a waste of paperwork, time, and energy, since the minimum deductible was usually more expensive than the losses incurred. Arthur couldn't make out the signatures on the associated paperwork from the scanned PDFs, but it didn't matter. The job title was enough to tell Arthur that whoever had signed the write-off, they had done so under instructions from above.

It wasn't a few piddling millions lost. Morgana had failed to take a few things into account. It were a few hundred million lost, and not only from hijacked shipments, the manufacturing line, or even at the receiving end. The losses included break-ins at the R&D centres, at the training and testing facilities, at the storage warehouses. They included prototypes, failed and otherwise, forcing the development team to reconstruct the prototypes in time for demonstrations.

Why hadn't he heard about this before?

There was a large gap in the data that Morgana had put together in an attempt trace what it was that Morgause Delamontagne had been after, and that gap involved the weapons archived in the armoury. Either Morgana hadn't thought of checking the inventory, or she had thought about it and dismissed the idea, because the archives were _ancient_ and expansive and poorly catalogued, and not even Arthur wanted to go through the archives on his best day.

Or his worst.

Arthur scrolled through spreadsheet after spreadsheet, punching in calculations and forecasts and predictions, but it didn't matter how he looked at the numbers. There were substantial losses. Not just money -- but weapons. It was the unaccounted-for weapons that worried Arthur the most, and not just because of the threat of the audits they would have to go through if the government oversight committee on the manufacture, sales and distribution of firearms got wind of this.

It was because he didn't know where the weapons were ending up.

He heaved a heavy sigh, stretched against the backboard of the bed, and rubbed his face, careful not to dislodge the laptop that was balanced precariously on his legs. When he dropped his hands, he startled to see Merlin leaning against the doorway to the bathroom, wearing nothing but a pair of Arthur's fleece pyjama pants, watching him with a bemused expression.

Arthur couldn't count the number of times he'd surreptitiously kept an eye on Merlin when Merlin staggered through the barracks door, wearing a sleepy expression that was the same as the one he was wearing now. The urge to pull Merlin down and curl up around him on the bed was just as strong now as it had been then, but unlike at the barracks, here, there was nothing standing in the way.

Merlin's hair was a ruffled mess, his long eyelashes made him look even _sleepier_ , and his lips were red in a way that had everything to do with brushing his teeth and not enough with Arthur having bruised them in a rough kiss. That was his doing. He'd barely looked up from his laptop since he'd come home.

Merlin was looking better since the "training" session -- a session that was more of a demonstration to get the team used to his magic and which had left him pale and tired. He'd slept, he'd eaten, and his colour was back to normal. One by one, each member of Excalibur -- those who'd pulled a gun on Merlin in Paris, anyway -- had approached Merlin and taken him aside and spoken quietly, and although Arthur didn't know the specifics of the conversation, whatever had been said had cheered Merlin a great deal.

He kept watching Merlin, _liking_ Merlin in this state of undress, in this condition, half-naked and struggling to stay awake. It was the rare time when Merlin wasn't completely guarded, when all of his emotions were written on his body, in every line of lean, long muscle, in the definition of sinew standing out against his skin. He was raw, open, bare, in a way that no one else but Arthur would ever see, because Arthur would make certain no one else would ever see it. There was no hiding behind clothes that were too big for him, that swallowed him up, that shielded him from everyone.

Arthur hadn't seen Merlin like this very often. At the barracks, he'd been careful not to look too hard. At the Directory compound, he hadn't dared try, because the temptation to follow through would have been too great. After Paris, he'd been too exhausted, too preoccupied to look, to study Merlin, to catalogue all the new things he was learning about him.

He found he didn't know what it meant when Merlin stood like that, in a lazy, contemplative stance, his arms crossed over his chest not in defence, but to keep warm against the faint chill in the room. He didn't know what it meant when Merlin pressed his lips together like that, just enough to moisten them slightly. He didn't know what it meant for Merlin to tilt his head to the side, for his eyes to study the way Arthur was sprawled over the bed, for him to shake his head at the sight he saw in mixed amusement and disapproval.

It confounded him, and it irritated him, because now Arthur had to _ask_. "What?"

Merlin raised both brows in a faint shrug. "Oh, nothing. I was just thinking."

"Always a bad idea, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said, glancing glumly at the rows and columns of data. They hadn't magically changed in the last thirty seconds to something less dire. "What were you thinking about?"

"Just." Merlin paused, and shrugged again. _This_ , Arthur could recognize, because it was familiar: it was the avoidance, the hesitation that Merlin had shown him so many times before. Arthur hadn't liked it then, and he liked it even less now.

"No more secrets, remember?" Arthur said gently. "What is it?"

"You'll laugh."

Arthur raised a brow. "Will I?"

Merlin didn't answer right away; his eyes darted to the floor in front of him, and Arthur followed his gaze, skipping past to watching the way Merlin's toes scrunched up. "Well. We're being awfully... domestic."

"Domestic?" Arthur frowned. He glanced around. The situation was as far from _domestic_ as the earth was to the space station in orbit. "How do you mean?"

"This," Merlin said, uncrossing his arms to gesture between the two of them, and, not knowing what to do with his arms after, crossing them again. "Us. We got domestic pretty fast, didn't we? I mean. Skipped well past the honeymoon shagging-until-we're-too-sore-to-shag phase and went right for the old married couple phase. You barely saying _hello, sweetcheeks, I'm home_ when you get in. You bringing your work to bed. Me sitting around wondering how long it'll be before I start feeling neglected and start up an affair with the pool boy."

Arthur stared. His mind had taken a detour on the _shagging-until-we're-too-sore-to-shag_ comment, and came to a grinding halt after _sweetcheeks_.

The laptop was an uncomfortable weight. He shifted it slightly to relieve the pressure.

The rest of what Merlin said came at Arthur in a flood of things he definitely never wanted to hear again.

"First of all, there will be no affairs with the pool boy because I've made a decision that we will never own a property that requires a pool boy. I'll have the property paved one kilometre in every direction so that there will be no need for a gardener. If I ever engage the services of a construction crew for any reason, I will make certain that they're all women -- they'll do a better job, anyway. If we need a plumber, for example, it had better be a female plumber."

A slow grin spread across Merlin's lips, but, more infuriatingly, he stayed where he was, leaning against the doorframe, watching Arthur.

"Second, if you feel neglected, all you have to do is say so, _Mer_ lin. You can't expect me to read your mind, can you? If I'm distracted, just find some way to get me out of it, yeah?"

Merlin frowned in thought, his lips pursing as if he were struggling with a decision. Finally, he unfolded his arms, walking toward the bed. He pointedly put a finger on the laptop, closed the lid, and put it on the bedside table before crawling onto the bed and straddling Arthur's legs. "Will this work?"

Arthur half-chuckled, his hands running up Merlin's thighs before hooking his fingers in the crook of his knees and tugging him closer. Merlin obliged, shuffling forward, and rested his weight lightly in Arthur's lap. Arthur knew exactly when Merlin realized Arthur's interest, because his eyebrow shot up, and he pressed his lips together again, wetting them.

"Hello, sweetcheeks," Arthur said, gazing up at Merlin.

Merlin laughed.

"You know, if you'd stop being stubborn about this," Arthur said, leaning up a little to touch the fading black eye around Merlin's temple, "I'd be taking you out for dinner, to the movies, the theatre, the shops, _everywhere_ , and _then_ we'd have our honeymoon phase and get on with all the shagging."

"Got a lot of that to catch up on," Merlin remarked, shifting his hips in a way that should be _illegal_ , if the way his bum brushed Arthur's hardening cock was anything to go by. Arthur swallowed a groan. "And I'm not being stubborn. You're the one coming back from work late. First was your meeting with Morgana -- and weren't you going to throw a tantrum to get out of the rest of the day?"

"I was. I did. Then I went to the warehouses to check on a few things," Arthur admitted.

"And after that, you went in early, meaning to be back by noon," Merlin reminded him.

"That was the Colonel's fault. He wanted to simultaneously grill me on what I knew about the company and update me on recent events. At least he paid for dinner." Arthur rubbed his head; he still had a slight pain in his temple from that long, long day with Uther.

"Then yesterday your nine-to-five lasted until ten," Merlin scowled, crossing his arms. "And tonight, you've been nose-in that."

He tilted his head toward the laptop.

"I know you're trying to solve this whole issue with the stolen weapons, but that's not going to happen in only a few days. Plus, you're also wrecking your cover every time you show up at work on time and _stay_ there."

"I know," Arthur sighed.

"On top of _that_ , look what you're doing to _me_ ," Merlin said, the line between his brows deepening.

Arthur frowned, not sure what Merlin was talking about. "What am I doing to you?"

"You've turned me into a nagging wife complaining that you're never home. I mean, at this point, Gwaine is starting to look attractive."

" _Gwaine_ \--" Arthur bit out the name with a snarl. Abruptly, he reached for Merlin, flipping him over, and laid on top of him. Merlin yelped in surprise. "I _knew_ it was a bad idea to let him take a rota here with you. What has he been doing? Do I need to lock you up in the bedroom, barricade the windows? Cut his hands off so that he can't --"

"No _wonder_ you're playing your role so well," Merlin muttered. "You really are a possessive, spoilt prat."

"Damn right I am," Arthur said, shifting his weight just enough to yank the blanket out and to rearrange Merlin's legs so that he could fit between them. He rocked his hips, rubbing his cock against Merlin's hardening length, thinking that they really should be naked, and not wearing pyjama bottoms. "Can't tell me you don't like it."

"And so what if I do?" Merlin's grin was irresistible.

Arthur answered by leaning down, bruising those lips with the kisses he should have been giving Merlin all along.

"About Gwaine --"

Merlin looked at him with dazed eyes, waving a hand in the air. "He's harmless. Resume kissing."

"Oh, well, if he's _harmless_ ," Arthur said, resisting Merlin's attempts to pull him down.

"Completely harmless," Merlin assured him. "What happened to the kissing?"

"I've known Gwaine longer than you. _Harmless_ is not a word I'd use to describe him. I know all sorts of trouble --"

Merlin pinched Arthur's arse, making his hips jerk, and the two of them made soft noises at the unexpected friction.

Arthur had to wait for his vision to stop sparkling like exploding stars. "What was that for?"

"Making me feel neglected," Merlin complained.

Arthur laughed, deep down in his chest, startled and surprised and fond. He leaned in to kiss Merlin, brushing lips together, drawing a line of kisses along his jaw until he drifted down his throat and found a collarbone. Arthur mouthed at it, listening to the soft, keening sounds from Merlin, not satisfied until he managed to draw more volume out of Merlin before moving further down.

His tongue drew circles around a nipple; he nibbled at it, flicked his tongue over it, suckled it -- all of which had the desired effect of deepening Merlin's breathing, of making him squirm, of following Arthur when Arthur's lips drew away. He chuckled softly, running his hands along Merlin's sides, feeling the lean muscles on his chest, the bumps of bony ribs. Arthur followed the motion of his hands, streaming further and further down, pausing only when he felt the jut of Merlin's hips under his hands.

His eyes fluttered open, and he saw the multi-coloured lines of Merlin's tattoo, up close and personal, _finally_ , and he continued to lick, to run his tongue over the lines, tracing around the dragon's curves, up and down the sword.

The tension in Merlin's body eased when Arthur pulled away, rolling onto his side for a better look at the tattoo. Merlin's fingers carded through his hair, gentle enough to send shivers down Arthur's spine.

The dragon was cast in black ink and coloured in gorgeous bronzes, subdued browns and brilliant golds, fiery reds and earthy greens. The detailing of the scales, the talons, the teeth; the leathery, fibrous wings half-stretched, half-curled onto itself; the solemn, protective expression -- it looked real. Arthur traced the tattoo with his fingers, and again with his tongue, drawing soft gasps from Merlin that Arthur would never tire of hearing.

It was in the repeated tracings that Arthur realized he was drawing symbols hidden in the tattoo, symbols that he couldn't see until his fingers found them first. When he pulled away for a better look, his eyes drifted from the symbols to the sword grasped in the dragon's claws, to the shield against its body, half-hidden, tucked beneath the dragon's wing.

Arthur's shield. Arthur's sword.

It caught him so off guard that he pulled away, deciding, no, it hadn't been his imagination, it wasn't wishful thinking, it was _real_.

It was identical.

His shield. His sword.

Arthur didn't know how long he spent staring at the tattoo, how long his fingers traced the sword again and again. The body under him had gone so, so very still, and when he looked up, it was to see Merlin, propped on his elbows, watching Arthur with an expression that could only be described as hesitant, terrified, apprehensive.

Hesitant Merlin, who had walked out from the safety of cover and into enemy fire without batting an eye.

Frightened Merlin, who had defeated enemy sorcerers with a brutal display of raw power.

Apprehensive Merlin, who couldn't see how much Arthur wanted him. How much Arthur needed him. How Arthur meant to have him.

_Mine. Mine. Mine._

" _Merlin_ ," Arthur whispered. He didn't have any words. He crawled up to brush his lips against Merlin's, to press a hand against Merlin's cheek, to break for air and rest his forehead against Merlin's. "You really are mine, aren't you?"

Merlin relaxed, his body soft and limber, his touch gentle where he stroked Arthur's tattoo of shield and sword and blade and spear. His voice was hoarse, cracking under the weight of emotion. "Yeah."

There was a weight between them, a magnetic pull, and Arthur succumbed, easily, unresisting, accepting that there was no force, supernatural or otherwise, that could keep them apart. He tasted Merlin's lips, he showered Merlin with kisses, he touched Merlin on every bare patch of skin as if he couldn't get enough of him. And he never would.

The fervent, hungry passion had transformed into something else, soft and poignant, but no less intense in desire and want and _need_. There was no rush, there was no great push to the very end, there was only them, and Arthur wanted to make it last as long as he could.

It was a slow, slick, heated rub of bodies, of questing hands and soothing touches, of kisses and licks and slow _sucking_. It was Arthur drawing all the sounds that he could from Merlin before Merlin couldn't take it any more, shoving at Arthur until Arthur laid on his back in the middle of the bed. It was Merlin touching and licking and kissing Arthur in soft, curious, exploring ways that left Arthur squirming beneath him. It was Merlin's fingers hooking onto the waistband of Arthur's pyjama pants, urging Arthur to raise his hips, tugging them down at a slow, torturous speed, his fingers stroking thighs and knees and feet until the material was cast aside. It was Merlin, standing at the foot of the bed, sticking his thumbs down the front of his own pants, moving his hands out and around, shimmying his hips in a _completely indecent_ way that nearly made Arthur come right there.

And if that didn't do it, it definitely nearly happened at the wet heat of Merlin's mouth around Arthur's cock, his head bobbing up and down slowly, his cheeks hollowed out, at the wanton sight of him reaching down to take himself in hand to squeeze to keep himself from cresting over his own climax too soon.

Arthur reached for Merlin with a groan, pulling him up until their lips met and Arthur could taste his own pre-come on Merlin's lips. The touch of their cocks sent a lightning shock through Arthur, and he tilted his body, rolling Merlin under him.

"God, Merlin," Arthur said, drinking in the sight of Merlin, long and lean, sex-flushed and hot, lips a burning red, eyes dark with lust.

It was his turn again, and he stroked all of Merlin, from the edge of his collarbone down the ripple of muscle and ribs, over the flat stomach and solid thighs and calves. And when his hand brushed up, to nestle between his thighs, Merlin parted his legs with a moan that forced Arthur to pull away, to take _himself_ in hand, squeezing until he had some vestige of control again. Arthur rested his forehead on Merlin's shoulder and mumbled under his breath, over and over, _God, Merlin. What you do to me._

He reached for Merlin, only to find Merlin's hand already there, working a spit-wet finger inside. Arthur took his wrist to get him to stop, because _he_ liked to do that, and Merlin twisted his hand in Arthur's grasp, taking Arthur's wrist. Merlin guided Arthur's hand to his mouth, where he licked Arthur's fingertips, _sucking_ them the same way he'd sucked Arthur's cock. Arthur groaned, burying his head in the crook of Merlin's neck again, biting down, mouthing Merlin's throat while he worked him loose.

" _Arthur_ ," Merlin breathed, and it was the high-pitched, _needy_ whine that would make Arthur succumb to whatever it was that Merlin wanted every time he heard it. He fumbled for the drawer, reaching in blindly until he had a handful of far more than necessary. He rolled on a condom, slicked himself with lube, working two, then three fingers into Merlin until the moans from Merlin were too much to take.

It was easy, too easy, the way perfect things fit together exactly the way they should. It was a slow slide, a pause to enjoy the feel of _this_ , to finally, without a doubt, have Merlin as his. It was a slow, slow fuck, each thrust seemingly deeper than the last and not enough no matter what. It was kissing in quick, breathy snatches, of wordless promises, of drowning.

It was a strangled _Arthur_ whispered against his ear, the sensation of tightening around his cock, the brush of Merlin's hand stroking himself off. It was a broken rhythm, a stuttering breath, a crashing orgasm that sapped his strength, his senses, his soul.

Arthur's heart finally stopped racing long enough for him to pull out of Merlin, his stomach wet from the come that had pulsed onto Merlin's belly, that had smeared between them when Arthur had collapsed. He stayed where he was for a while, half on top of Merlin, his hand covering Merlin's tattoo.

They stayed like that until Arthur's cock softened, and he left the bed to pull off the condom and to get a damp cloth from the bathroom to clean them both up. Merlin grabbed his hand before he could do much more than take a step from the bed to get rid of the cloth, so he left it on the floor instead, to deal with in the morning. He climbed next to Merlin, who curled into Arthur in an tangle of limbs that brought a startling chuckle of amusement out of him.

"What?" Merlin asked, his voice husky, breathy, hoarse. Arthur loved the sound of it.

"Still feeling neglected?" Arthur brushed the hair from Merlin's forehead.

"Maybe a little bit _less_ ," Merlin said. He lifted his chin to look at Arthur, his soft smile fading. "Do you... Um. Do you mind?"

"Do I mind that you're a needy _girl_?" Arthur smirked. "No, not at all. For one thing, I knew you were a girl all along --"

"Oi -- I'm not --" Merlin started to sit up.

Arthur wrestled him back on the bed, half-laying on top of him. "You referred to yourself as the _wife_ in the relationship --"

"I was making a metaphor -- you do know what a metaphor is?" Merlin squirmed under Arthur, which did nothing good for Arthur's concentration. Or for Merlin's, from the looks of him, because Merlin pressed his lips together, shook his head, and said, "I wasn't talking about that. I was talking about --"

Arthur put a hand on Merlin's side, stroking the tattoo gently. He broke eye contact to look down at it, to see it with eyes that weren't as clouded with lust and desire and want. He thought it was his imagination, but the scales on the dragon _shimmered_ , the wings seemed to flutter, and there was a possessive curl of talons around the sword. "This?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, and it was a tiny sound, as if he were holding his breath.

"Why did you get it?" Arthur asked, tracing the sword, but what his fingers really itched to touch were the symbols hidden in the dragon's ink, somewhere in those scales. It felt as if he had lost them, that they had disappeared, that they had never been there -- and maybe they weren't. His eyes were drawn back to the sword. Each member of his team had selected their own design -- the only commonality was that each had a sword, but no sword was identical. _Had_ been identical. Arthur's sword was patterned on Excalibur, and that was only because it was _fitting_. "Why Excalibur?"

Merlin was biting his lip. "No reason."

Arthur raised a doubtful brow. " _Mer_ lin?"

"Um. I just. It. It seemed right."

"It is," Arthur said, and was rewarded with a softening of Merlin's anxious features. "It's perfect."

Merlin's smile was gorgeous. "Yeah?"

"Of course. Also, it saves me the trouble."

"Trouble?" Merlin started to sit up again, and Arthur sighed, holding him down, stroking Merlin's side. "What trouble?"

"The trouble of figuring out how to mark you so that everyone in the world will see you're mine," Arthur said. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully, and leaned down to kiss the tattoo.

"Christ. You _really_ are a possessive, spoilt prat," Merlin said, and laughed.

 

ooOOoo

 

Not fifteen minutes after Arthur left, Merlin's phone beeped and startled him out of a slow drift back to sleep.

It was the damned thirty minute _text me so I know you're all right_ rule. Five minutes after sending Arthur an angry text in response, Merlin programmed his phone to send an automated text one minute past every half hour, drawing from a random list of snarky pre-prepared stock phrases.

_'M fine._

_'M not gettng any sleep this way, u know?_

_Hw would u like havng 2 do this?_

_'M in the loo ffs_

It wasn't, in retrospect, the smartest thing that Merlin had ever done, because Arthur would keep getting stock messages until Merlin's phone ran out of stock messages or until Arthur realized that the text messages were repeating on a loop. If someone had grabbed Merlin right then and there, Arthur wouldn't know that Merlin was gone until he came home and saw his home destroyed.

Destroyed, and only because Merlin wasn't going out without a fight.

The repeating loop, however, let Merlin have three more hours of uninterrupted sleep and an extra-long hot shower (he decided he could forgive Arthur for the cell phone alarm only because the shower was almost as awesome as the bed), before he started feeling guilty about bypassing the phone alarm in the first place. He reprogrammed it again, this time with a simple "RESPOND Y/N" button, where the Y would let him enter his own message, the N would pick randomly from the stock message list, and the tiny button in the upper left corner of the screen would send out a panic alarm.

He spent considerable time making a new list of stock responses, though.

_I found yr pr0n collection_

_There's nothing to eat_

_There's nothing on TV_

_Guess wht Im wearing -- if u guessed nothing ur right_

The hardest part of getting out of the bedroom was unpacking their gear like Arthur had asked him to do. Not knowing what to bring to the lake house, Arthur had brought _everything_ that Merlin owned, which was admittedly not very much. Merlin hated having to put things away. It was part of the reason that he never had a lot to carry when he was shuttling between leave and active duty.

Part of Merlin wanted to leave his bag where it was, untouched, packed full with everything he owned and a few nicer extras that were courtesy of the Directory, including that leather jacket that Arthur abhorred and insisted needed to be sent to the Salvation Army.

It didn't matter how much they talked it out the night before, how much they'd sorted in one night of pizza and beers and a black-eye that still stung, tender and swollen, how much Merlin showed them his magic and they asked to see more. A part of Merlin didn't quite believe that all was forgiven in one go.

Worse, if Merlin had just kept his magic to himself, if he hadn't told Arthur, then Arthur would've been in the clear. The team wouldn't have been angry with him.

Just at Merlin.

Merlin knelt next to his duffel bag for so long that his legs fell asleep. He didn't unpack. He couldn't bear it, because at any time he might need to...

He might need to _go._

It was his stomach that drew him out of the bedroom eventually, and he started a slow slump down the stairs where he found Kay sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, remote control in hand, channel-surfing all the way through the hundreds of channel before starting over again.

Kay raised his free hand, thumbing toward the kitchen. "Eat."

"Aren't you supposed to be patrolling around the house or something?" Merlin asked, careful, cautious, curious, fearing what Kay's reaction would be. He braced himself for a sharp retort, but none came.

"Did that five minutes ago," Kay said. "Then, while you were off in la-la land, I unpacked some of the gear Arthur shipped here, but I don't know where he wants it."

He gestured with the remote control toward the large pile of boxes in the living room, partially blocking the way to the guest and back rooms, and the area looked far more untidy now than it did when the smaller packages were all tucked in one larger container. "I figured you knew where things went, so."

"Me?" Merlin started on a second slice of cold pizza. "Why would I know where Arthur wants to put this crap?"

"Because you're the one with the get-out-of-jail free card and the run of the house. If Arthur can't find his favourite jacket, then it's no fault of mine, and all you've got to do is show him your dimples and he'll forgive you."

"Wish it were that easy," Merlin muttered. He rubbed his face in quiet frustration. He opened the refrigerator and stared at the contents -- it was full of fruits, vegetables, cold cuts -- before deciding that he didn't feel like making anything.

"I found this, though," Kay said, holding up a small cardboard box covered in stamps and a big white mailing address sticker, the flaps tucked in where someone had already opened it. The box stayed aloft while he surfed through the last few channels before he started again. Kay stood up, tossed the remote on the couch, and came into the kitchen, tossing the box from hand to hand before prying it open.

"What is --"

"Remember my sister Kathy? The hocus-pocus witchy one? Well, she'd sent us those protective charms --" Kay reached in and pulled out a handful of knotted leather cords. It was a sailor's tangle of knots that Merlin immediately dreaded trying to undo. "I guess I know why Arthur wanted you to take a look at them before I passed them around."

Kay stopped on the other side of the kitchen island, putting the box down.

"Um. Yeah. Look, Kay, I'm sorry --"

"Don't," Kay said, and when Merlin risked looking at him, he was relieved to see a small smile on Kay's face instead of the anger that he'd thought he'd get. "No apologies, okay? I get it. Maybe more than anyone else."

There was a silence, then, and Merlin saw something that he'd never seen in Kay before. It was a tiny crack in his tough guy armour, a vulnerability that was both raw and weeping, as if it were from a wound that had never healed and probably never would.

"Kay?"

"You know, my Kathy wasn't shy about telling people she were a witch," Kay said, ignoring him, talking in a rush of breath that would drown out even Gwaine's fast-talking. "It were kind of hard not to go with it, you know. She already dressed up like a vampire wannabe with the white skin and the black lipstick and the dyed-black hair and the Goth clothes with all the pentagram pendants and stuff.

"Some of the snob girls would scream _ya fookin' lezzie_ at her, and she'd grab her tits and crotch and scream back, _you want this, you know you do_. Stupid of her, but she wouldn't listen, said that if she played along with them, they wouldn't bother her none. Sure, the yard parted like the bloody Red Sea when she walked past. The snobs ignored her sometimes. The nerds trembled when she walked past. The jocks mostly left her alone. Mostly," Kay said, looking distant for a moment, his hand closing into a tight fist with cracking knuckles, the muscles in his arm and chest taut as if he were about to let a punch fly in the hopes of shattering a memory.

"Even the Goth kids didn't want to have anything to do with her, especially when she started swanning about with a vial of her own blood around her neck, a couple of cuts on her throat scabbing over and she'd tell everyone she were bit by a vampire. Or when she started getting into people's faces talking in made-up tongues and making the devil's sign with her hand and cursing left and right.

"I don't know who were more scared of her. The teachers or the other kids."

Merlin half-chuckled. Kay gave him a small, wan smile, as if his sister tired him out just _talking_ about her.

"She got bullied a lot. Beaten up. Came home once with a black eye and a fat lip that our foster-mum yelled at her for, but thank fuck Kathy had enough sense to wash off the marker from her face before Anna could see it, because Anna would've gotten the gun out and gone rampaging after the bastards.

"Thank fuck Kathy made _me_ promise not to do anything, because I knew where that gun was, and I would've used it too."

Kay didn't say anything for a long time. He rubbed his face, leaning against the island. It seemed like he'd counted every whorl and line on the granite countertop before he looked at Merlin again.

"Some of the other kids threw rotten fruit at her. They'd corner her after class and push her around. They talked about her behind her back. In front of her. Made fun of her every chance they got. Even the teachers had it in for her. I suppose she could've just practiced in secret until the rest of us matured out of our wanker phases, but that wasn't her. She was the in-your-face, fuck-y'all sort, and if you didn't like it, it was just too damn bad." Kay paused. "But you, Merlin? You went about things the opposite way that she did. You went into hiding and tried to fit in."

Merlin shrugged a shoulder. He didn't like to think about it, but if it came down to the how and why of it, Merlin had been something of a coward. He'd denied what he was, he did the bare minimum to conform. And he'd done it because he could too easily picture the private hell that Kathy had gone through in school. Because he'd watched others try to stand their ground, to ignore peer pressure, to try to retain whatever little bit of flash of individuality that made them unique and special.

It was just easier to pretend to fit in than to fight and claw and carve a place for himself.

Kay was right -- where Kathy had gone one extreme out of self-preservation, Merlin had gone the other way, keeping his head down to try and prove to others, maybe even to himself, that he could be like everyone else. That he was normal.

"Didn't work," Merlin said glumly. It didn't work because he'd been tall and skinny and gangly. It didn't work because his ears stuck out more than they should. There wasn't enough money for him to modify his uniform the way the rich kids did, with finer material and brightly coloured liners and store-brought shirts that were in direct contravention to the dress code guidelines. He couldn't talk Stupid; it was a language reserved for the inanely vapid and transparent. He couldn't blithely agree with whatever the status quo claimed was true, because his gut instinct was to rail against the wrong.

He didn't fit in; he never did, not back then, and keeping his head tucked down low, avoiding eye contact in case the natives got restless, and learning to pick up on the cues to start running very fast and going very far before they caught him had always been the order of the day.

"That's 'cause you're like seven shades of weird, Merlin," Kay said, his smile big and bright -- and for once, it didn't hardly look menacing. "And that's just on the surface, without all the egghead smarts and the abracadabra bollocks, yeah?"

Merlin found himself answering without thinking, raising two fingers in the air that set Kay braying with laughter.

"That's more like it," Kay said. Then, more sombrely, he went on, "All that piss and vinegar. We've missed it these last few days, you know. Thought for a bit that maybe you'd gone and gotten yourself kidnapped by one of the enemy, and we got a trade-in model instead."

Merlin grunted. He _hadn't_ thought of that, but now that Kay brought it up, it was a sobering thought. There _were_ spells that could work, that could result in that exact thing. Illusions, transformations, potions, even artefacts. He knew from Gaius' books that a sorcerer could craft a body out of mud and raise it as a human-seeming golem.

He shuddered involuntarily.

"She's not like that anymore, my Kathy. Doesn't fight or fly in people's faces at the drop of a hat. Doesn't go about wearing every shade of Goth black that there is, either, thank fuck, because under the clown white and the heavy kohl eyeliner and the shoe-shine black she put on her mouth, she's decent-looking. But don't tell her I said that, she'll curse me or something. Despite all the bollocks she grew up with, she's turned out all right. She's calmed down some. Found herself some people who give a damn, who believe in her, in the same things she does. I suppose you could call them her coven, but that ain't it, not really, because Kathy's still something of a loner.

"But you..."

Kay trailed off in such a way that Merlin crossed his arms, holding himself a bit too tightly, as if bracing for the worst. "But me, what?"

Kay hesitated, then pointed a threatening finger at Merlin. "You ever tell anyone I said this, I will hunt you down and beat your arse to a bloody pulp, _then_ Arthur will hunt me down and beat my arse to a bloody pulp for having been made to do it in the first place, and you don't want that to happen to me, do you?"

"Um." Merlin blinked. He didn't particularly want that to happen to _him_ to start with, but he nodded, frowned, shook his head and said, "Um. No? No. Of course not. That would be terrible."

"Too right," Kay said. He glanced around, making sure that there was no one eavesdropping in the empty house. "When I first met the team, they were bigger than the whole world. Weren't but Arthur and Leon, Lance and Gwaine, Perce and O in the beginning, hanging out in the yard after school, kicking the ball around waiting for their rides home or smoking fags or bitching about whatever they had to bitch about.

"Scared to bits of them, I were," Kay repeated. "My first day at this school, the first thing anyone ever said to me, it were, _stay away from that lot if you know what's good for you_. I didn't ask why, I didn't question it, I just figured, there's a reason, and it's the same reason you hear everywhere you go about people. Steer clear of those, they're troublemakers, they'll get you banged up, they'll want your lunch money. I'd been shuttled from school to school enough to know that it's all the same.

"So Arthur comes over and says hello and I say fuck you. Gwaine says there's no call for that, mate, and I punch him in the face. Didn't near break his nose, but there was blood everywhere. Leon tries to make nice but I drop my hot tea in his lap. Lance comes around but I tell him if he comes near me, I'll cut up his girl."

"Jesus, Kay," Merlin breathed, eyes wide. Lance and Gwen had been together _forever_. He could only imagine how Lance would have taken that threat.

"Perce and O never made the rounds. Bigger than me they were, and they kept clear, like they were the ones scared of me. Of me. I were a little gangly kid, more like you than like them. I felt on top of the world.

"They never paid me any mind after that. Leastways, that's what I thought. So while I was busy thinking I were the new King of the yard, I went and hung out with the people who warned me off them, and fuck if that weren't the dumbest thing I'd ever gone and done. First thing they did to me was put me to work. As a lookout while they broke into the teacher's lounge to steal tests to sell, while they jacked cars out of the lot, even sold nickel-and-dimes at the corner out of sight from the school."

Merlin had known that Kay had a rough past, that he'd had it rough, full stop, but he hadn't heard the details, not like this. He understood, now, why the Directory put together a cover story for Kay that amounted to a juvenile delinquency with every intention of heading down the road to a short and unfulfilling criminal career, if the military hadn't stepped in and set his head straight.

"I weren't _fourteen_ , Merlin," Kay said. "Not hardly the brightest, and not hardly the sharpest, but I had it in my head that anyone who would look out for me and warn me off the bad crowd, well, they were deserving of loyalty, yeah? Then I find out that they were the bad crowd all along. I'm already in enough trouble with my foster parents because of my shite grades, and they're threatening to ship me back to the adoption centre, and it's a big round ball of bollocks when I tell my so-called mates that I can't be lookout for them one day because I picked _right then_ to grow a brain.

"It got dirty."

He paused.

"It were Arthur who got between them and me. Lance who took the knife out of someone's hand. Perce who cracked someone's jaw, and O who got suspended for breaking someone's arm. Don't ask me where were Gwaine, because to this day no one will tell me, and I'm not so sure I want to know anyway.

"It took me five minutes," Kay said, holding up his hand. "Five, and only that long because I'd had a concussion and was a little weak from blood loss, because the fuckers nearly sliced off my balls. Five bloody minutes to realize that I had big brothers looking out for me all along, never mind that they didn't know me from Adam until the first day of school. Five minutes to figure out that they were the family I'd been looking for my whole life, and that the first thing I'd done when I meet them was spit in their face.

"Those were the longest minutes of my whole bloody life, waiting for the ambulance to come. Lance were keeping me from bleeding out. O was keeping the crowd from getting too close. Arthur's barking orders, Leon's on the phone to triple-9. I was bloody well _dying_ , and the only thing I could think about was how I'd told them all to fuck off on that first fucking day.

"When I got out of the hospital it was right back to my foster parents' ratty old hole in the wall, but they didn't want anything to do with me as long as they kept getting the government cheques. I'm sleeping anywhere I can because they've already given my bed away to another kid. The bench in the boy's change room at school. A doorstep somewhere. The rooftop where someone left a beach chair. Didn't show up to classes a couple of days in a row -- couldn't, not with those toffs in my way, _waiting for me_ to show my ugly mug so they could have me at round two.

"Day three..." Kay half-chuckled. "Day three? I'm waiting around the corner at the brownstone, and there's the toffs again, and I'm giving up, I'm thinking about Plan B, run away somewhere and try to survive off the streets when Arthur shows up of bloody-hell nowhere with his whole crew in tow -- the boys, the whole footie team. Gwaine tosses an arm around my shoulder and Arthur leads the way in."

Kay took a deep breath. He nodded as if to himself. "Spent the rest of the year sleeping on people's couches, usually over at Arthur's, until Pendragon senior realized that the couch had grown him another kid and he called social services and got me placed in a _good_ home not far from them where I had Anna keeping me cleaned up and Kathy to show me a different way of fighting to survive, and the whole time, I had _them_ , Arthur and Leon, Lance and Gwaine, Perce and O -- my _family_ \-- showing me how to trust again.

"I weren't going to betray them, weren't going to turn my back on them, not ever, not after that first time," Kay said, and his eyes were wet with tears, his eyes blinking in a desperate _I'm not going to cry in front of you_ crash of emotion. "I'd fucked up once. That were all I needed. And they got over it, just like they'll get over..."

Kay waved a hand in Merlin's direction.

Merlin swallowed hard. He could see what it cost Kay to say all this, to bring it out to light. It wasn't exactly trotting out his deepest, darkest secret, but it was close, damn close. It was a part of Kay that Kay was telling him, that he probably had never told anyone before.

"Merlin. You need us," Kay said. "You do. You need us just like we need you."

Merlin's chest hurt. He lowered his eyes. "I don't --"

"Shut up," Kay said.

"Kay --" Merlin's eyes snapped up, and the protest on his lips died when he saw the look on Kay's face.

"I mean it. Shut up. Because if you start saying that we'd get along just fine without you or some other bollocks like that, I'm going to have to hurt you, you understand me?"

Merlin rubbed the back of his neck and nodded, but he couldn't help but scowl and shake his head. "I can't help it."

"Yeah," Kay said, nodding. "I know the feeling. Took me weeks before I stopped telling our lot to leave me alone, that I had everything under control, that they really didn't need to haul me to their houses and set me up on the couch or put out another plate for me at the dinner table. Weeks. It's all these years later, and one of them still has to grab me and haul me along, because sometimes I forget that I really am one of them."

Merlin didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. He stared down at the counter for a long time, and neither one of them spoke.

"Besides," Kay said, breaking the silence, "It's like Perce said."

He didn't continue for so long that Merlin looked up.

"You belong to us, Merlin."

A heat burned in Merlin's cheeks, and he ran a hand through his hair. "Even with..."

"Even with," Kay said. He took a step back, straightening, and picked up the box. "Speaking of. Why don't you take a look at these? I mean, Kathy probably knows what she's doing, but, you know..."

Merlin glanced down at the contents, at the snarl of leather cords and shiny, round pendants that weren't bigger than the tip of Merlin's thumb. He could feel a trace of magic in each one, so lovingly imparted that it was almost as if he could feel which pendant was meant for whom. A necklace came loose of the tangle, and he knew from the lion stamped on the bit of pewter that it needed to go to Lance. There was a cross that definitely needed to go to Galahad. He ran his fingers over the surface of several pendants until he found one that rang _Kay_ like a bell, pulsing with power and love.

Merlin decided that he liked Kay's foster-sister when he took a look at the charm. It was a bunny rabbit.

"... never had that much faith in her magic. Charms and curses and potions and the like. Was never sure if it was just serendipity that things worked out the way Kathy wanted them to work out, or if she were really nudging Fate along." Kay flashed something of a grin that looked both boyish and sheepish and not entirely trusting, in the way that brothers never trusted their sisters.

"Oh, no," Merlin said, glancing up to nod and give Kay a small smile. "Your Kathy -- she's got some power. Here. This one's meant for you."

He held out the rabbit pendant.

"Oh, ha, the bloody ha," Kay said, snorting. "That's meant for, what, Bohrs. I'm sure of it."

Merlin raised his brows and shook his head. "Afraid not. It's got your name written all over it. Magically speaking."

"You're having me on."

"Don't take my word for it. Ask her and find out," Merlin said.

Kay's expression darkened, and he fumbled through his pockets until he came up for air with his phone. He fast-dialled a number, and paced in place, shooting glares at Merlin.

The knot of necklaces fell apart with a few discreet tugs -- a whispered spell to undo the snarl helped it along -- and Merlin started sorting them out, one after the other.

"Kathy! Damn you, it takes you six rings to answer now?"

Merlin glanced up and smirked.

"No, that's not why I called. Too right, there's a crisis. My mate had a look into that box you sent -- yes, yes, those, the ones I asked for? Sorted them out, says he knows which ones go to whom, but I think he's full of bollocks --" Kay shot Merlin a dark look. "Which one's mine?"

Merlin laid all the necklaces out.

"No! How could you do that to me? I'll be the flippin' laughingstock --"

There were sixteen of them in all.

Sixteen. A shield for Arthur. A skull and crossbones for Gwaine. An eagle for Leon. One for everyone, hand-picked by Kathy, who obviously knew everyone on the team.

Fifteen, and one spare. The last was a generic Celtic knot.

It was meant for him, the magic curling around his fingers inquiringly, curling and questing, comfortable and gentle. _Yes, yes. I am for you._

Merlin bit his lip.

The argument between Kay and Kathy had dwindled down to a quiet, conversation about their foster-mum, and Kay walked. Merlin slipped away from behind the counter and headed up the stairs.

"Oi," Kay said, covering his cell phone with his hand. "Where are you going? I'm supposed to make sure you eat."

"I'll be right back," Merlin said. "Something to do first."

Like unpack that duffel bag.

 

ooOOoo

 

Arthur spared a glance for his cell phone, replying to Merlin's _gway m sleepng_ text with _then get back to it_ before turning the phone face-down on the table next to the knives and forks. A few seconds later, Olaf Niedermann slipped into the seat across from him, looking as impeccable as always.

For the occasion, Olaf was wearing a pinstripe navy blue day suit, his shirt off-white, his tie a solid, blocky grey. The tie clip had a metallic sheen -- probably platinum -- and a diamond that most women would consider to be a waste anywhere other than on their fingers. The cuff links glinting in the restaurant lights.

Someone had turned them up to the "bright and cheery" midmorning setting, which was as far away from Olaf's current mood as one could get.

The retired (but no doubt still heavily active) MI-5 agent might have been dressed for cool and collected, unruffled and unfazed, but the way that Olaf's attention darted off to the side to linger at the restaurant entrance let slip a tiny sign of anxiety. On its own, the anxiety was troublesome, but easy to dismiss. Coupled with Olaf's distraction and discomfort, the situation became less troublesome and more troubling.

Perceval and Gwaine were at a table some distance away in a direct line between Arthur, Olaf, and the door. Arthur had done Olaf the usual courtesy by leaving him the seat with the clear line of sight to the door, but if it came down to it, Arthur trusted Perceval and Gwaine to alert him of any threat with enough opportunity to get away before there was any real concern or danger.

Olaf's eyes drifted around the Dorchester, half-empty now that the breakfast crowd had gone and the lunch rush hadn't quite arrived yet. His eyes lingered on Perceval and Gwaine for a fraction of a second longer than necessary, both in recognition and to factor them as a way to implement whatever escape plan that he had in mind. Knowing Olaf, that escape plan did not include Perceval, Gwaine, or Arthur.

Or Bohrs. Arthur wondered if Olaf had spotted Bohrs, who had drawn the unlucky short straw to stay with the car, complaining until Gwaine promised to package him up some take away.

Arthur couldn't muster the energy to be annoyed. In the cold logic of weights and balances, Olaf was the more important person of the four of them. He had decades of experience, of knowledge, of top-secret access, while Arthur and Gwaine and Perceval were babes in a basket in comparison. The enemy getting their hands on _them_ amounted to getting nothing. Getting their hands on Olaf? It was the biggest security breach that anyone had ever seen.

"Arthur," Olaf said, finally settling in.

"Olaf," Arthur said, sipping his coffee.

Neither of them said any more until the waiter came, took their orders, and returned to deliver Olaf's tea and refresh Arthur's black coffee. They had a moment of blessed silence before the waiter came again, delivering a bowl of warm croissants and a plate of whipped butter in perfect square blocks.

"So. I hear you're back at work," Olaf said cryptically. There was a fleeting smirk of amusement in his smirk, and he said, more pointedly, "Uther must be best pleased to have you in the office."

Arthur snorted. "Hardly."

They stared at each other for some time, evaluating, measuring, deciding how far to take the game. Arthur knew that Olaf was fully aware of Arthur's cover, and that Arthur knew how well-read Olaf was into the situation. There was no reason for them to continue the charade, and no reason for them not to.

"That's strange," Olaf said, playing along with a heavy frown. "I spoke to him a few days ago. He said that he was absolutely delighted to have you out of the army. He's keen on passing on the crown so that he can enjoy his retirement."

"Retirement." The idea of the Colonel retiring was akin to the world ending in an earth-rending event that decimated the population and threw civilization into the Middle Ages: preposterous, improbable, but entirely possible.

"Retirement," Olaf said, tilting his head in amusement. He shifted in his seat. "Surely he would have mentioned it to you?"

"Perhaps if I actually went to the office," Arthur said, waving a dismissive hand in the air. He picked up his cup and sipped his coffee. "Is it still in that building with the dragon logo?"

"Come off it, Arthur," Olaf said. "You'd never leave the company in the lurch."

"Did the Colonel tell you that?" Arthur asked. "Or did he say that I _had better not_ leave the company in the lurch?"

Olaf smiled thinly. Arthur noticed that he was a little on the pale side, that his upper lip was beading with sweat. When Olaf raised his cup, his hand shook faintly.

"Did my father ask you to come and give me a lecture about attending to business?" Arthur asked, taking his napkin, shaking it out, and draping it over his lap. He made a dismissive gesture in the air. "Because, really, he could have selected a better spokesperson."

"Your father didn't ask me to do anything. I know what it's like to have a child who is completely irascible. I sympathize with your father, though he does seem to have a blind spot where you're concerned --"

"How is Viv?" Arthur interrupted.

Olaf grimaced. And there, right there, Arthur saw that the grimace was one of pain. Olaf leaned back in the booth, moving his legs under the table. Instead of crossing them at the knee like he normally did, Olaf crossed them at the ankles. There was a peculiar way in which he shifted his weight and moved, as if he'd been hurt.

The right upper shoulder, Arthur guessed, and it was a severe enough injury that it stretched all the way down his back. Either Olaf had slipped down the stairs at his opulent home, or he'd been shot.

"She's doing well," Olaf said finally, a little distractedly. "She's in Norway, visiting family."

There was something wrong if a man as overwhelmingly protective of his daughter as Olaf summed up the state of his very headstrong and frustrating daughter as merely _doing well_. And, having grown up in the same social circles as Vivian, Arthur knew that she would never willingly "visit family" unless she absolutely couldn't help it.

That answered his question. Olaf wasn't merely injured. He'd been shot.

It was a struggle not to let his alarm show.

"And the rest of your family?" Arthur asked cautiously.

Two questions in a row about the same thing might have been a mistake, a bit of unnecessary pushing, because Olaf's measuring gaze found Arthur's, and Arthur did his best to school his features into bored disinterest for anyone who might be watching. He told himself that he was making small talk, nothing more, but Olaf knew Arthur nearly as well as Arthur knew him.

Olaf smiled, and said, "How's yours? I understand there was a little dust-up involving Morgana --"

"There's always a little dust-up involving Morgana," Arthur said, a little more sharply than he'd intended. "Don't you remember that time when Morgana and Vivian were suspended, and it ended up being some other girl's fault? Some sort of ridiculous catfight. Didn't Vivian get hurt? Shoved down the stairs, I think it was. What was that other girl's name?"

Morgana and Vivian _had_ been suspended on more than one occasion. Smoking on school grounds, indecent clothing, fighting in the yard (Morgana), purchasing homework (Vivian), but the one time they had been suspended together, they'd started off blaming each other until they realized that they'd been _set up_ by a conniving little bitch (Morgana's words) who seemed to have made it her life's goal to establish herself as the biggest, ugliest slag (Vivian's words) in their year, and she was going to do it by planting weapons and drugs and other illegal substances in the lockers belonging to the (more popular) girls who stood in her way.

Arthur remembered her name well, and that was only because Morgana and Vivian made a habit of referring to every pretentious, two-dimensional, completely _brainless_ woman they met as _Ruth Patterson!_ , complete with exclamation mark and effusive greetings that baffled the other person into forgetting their own name.

He wasn't asking to see if Olaf remembered her name, because he was sure that the man had a memory like a steel trap, _particularly_ after he'd made such a show of coming to the school to haul Vivian out of the dean's office while Morgana cooled her heels right outside, Arthur waiting along with her because it was safer if it were only him and not the Colonel. There had been no shoving, no pushing, and no hurting involved -- at least not on a physical level, and Arthur only mentioned Vivian's "injuries" because he was letting Olaf know that he was aware that Olaf wasn't altogether healthy. He was asking because he was offering Olaf a chance to tell him what was going on.

"I'm surprised you don't remember her name," Olaf said, raising both brows as he finished off his tea. "Morgause. Morgause Delamontagne, although I believe that she is going by her married name now. Gorlois."

Interpreting Olaf double-talk was easy. He was telling Arthur that Delamontagne was a pseudonym, and that her real name was Morgause Gorlois.

"Do you know what she's up to now?"

"Oh, I know everything about her," Olaf said, giving Arthur a slimy sort of smile full of information and not sharing any of it.

The waiter arrived with their food -- a Grand Marnier soufflé with a side of sausages and fried potatoes for Olaf, a Stromboli stuffed with bacon and spinach with a fruit cup for Arthur -- but neither of them moved. More tea and coffee was brought over, and again they were left in relative solitude.

Arthur leaned forward, pinching his brow, deciding to let the act drop, for now, or he would be picking at Olaf's veiled innuendo for weeks, trying to figure out what Olaf had really been trying to tell him. He picked up his knife and fork and made a slight rolling gesture with his hand. "Go on."

"She's a lead agent at Interpol, heading one of the anti-terrorism divisions," Olaf said, leaving his soufflé alone, for now, and slicing his knife through a sausage. He ate thoughtfully. "She has a team of analysts who specialize in locating terrorist cells and heads a small team of highly-trained law enforcement officials in dismantling those cells."

"And the story she gave Morgana?" Arthur asked.

They ate in silence before Olaf answered. "I can confirm that there is an investigation on the thefts, principally focused on the person, persons, or organizations suspected to be behind them. The focus is not directed at Pendragon Consulting."

"Should it be?"

Olaf sat back, his movements slow and careful, deliberately thought out before executed, the way someone did when they were acutely aware of their injury, and how they shouldn't move if they didn't want to aggravate it. Olaf watched Arthur in something like appraisal, or approval for what was a disconcerting minute. "That's a question that only you can answer, Arthur, but keep in mind that my contacts haven't been too shy to complain about the limited cooperation they've received from the company. It's not from lack of trying. However, while they're aware of your Morgause, Morgause has absolutely nothing to do with them, and they were quite keen to find out why I was asking about her."

"And what did you tell them?"

"What do I look like?" Olaf asked, frowning. He speared the soufflé, a faint puff of steam erupting from the indentation. It collapsed slightly. "Really, Arthur, I've left the good old days of being naïve and stupid behind a long time ago."

"I don't believe you've ever had days of being naïve," Arthur said. "But stupid? I'm not sure about that one."

Olaf waved his knife in the air at Arthur. "There's no need to be rude."

Arthur smirked. "Go on. Prove it to me. If Morgause is Interpol, heading part of the anti-terrorism division, and the weapons boys don't know what she's doing butting her nose in and investigating Pendragon, then _surely_ you have a handful of theories of _who_ she really works for, what she was doing that night and why she was interested in Morgana."

Arthur already had a pretty good idea. His conversation with Morgana a few days ago was still fresh in his mind. He had told her that the people they were after -- the NWO, though he hadn't gone in that much detail -- could be anyone and everyone. Considering that _magic_ had been involved, Morgause was either a member of the NWO herself, or it was all some sort of _completely ridiculous coincidence_ , and Arthur was spooking at ghosts.

"I suspect that you already have your suspicions," Olaf said, savouring his meal with slow bites. "And that your suspicions are not far off the mark, if not in the bull's-eye."

Arthur glanced up briefly before cutting into his Stromboli. What he didn't understand was the what or the how.

That Morgause had infiltrated the gala at the Louvre to draw Morgana away had been obvious. It was even possible that she had other targets on her list, and that the only other target affiliated with Pendragon Consulting was Arthur himself. Unlike Morgana, even with the combination of the Directory agents and his own men keeping an eye on her, Arthur was even less of an easy target.

Which reminded him.

"Answer me something first. Where were Smith's people that night?" Arthur asked, using Bayard's pseudonym only to be on the safe side. The _where were they_ had been asked more than once that night, and the nights following, usually in angry tones that no one had ever heard from Leon before. They could have used their help in the alley against the sorcerers.

Dear old Uncle Sol never gave Arthur an explanation that was sufficiently believable.

"Not in Paris," Olaf said. He put down his fork, dabbed at his mouth with his napkin, and reached for his tea.

Arthur straightened, his spine rod-stiff, his shoulders rolling back, but what hurt more was the edge of the dull knife against his fingers where he was grasping it too tightly. The white pain from his hand warred against the red rage in his blood. Bayard was the one who had brought Morgana into this. Who had promised to ensure that there was a protective detail surveilling her from afar, keeping her safe. Who _should have been there_ when everything went to hell. Who should have stopped it before it even got that far.

It was some time before Arthur got himself under control enough to calm his voice. "Not in Paris."

"I don't believe Smith had much of a say in the matter," Olaf said, sounding concerned. "Not that I am privileged with the inner workings of his little department. However, the night before the gala, our analysts uncovered several coded messages originating from Germany, Austria, and Belgium. It was sourced from several different messages in a communication from known and suspected associates of our friends in the NWO. Although it took some time before the encryption was cracked --"

Olaf gave Arthur a pointed look that was easily interpreted as _we could've used your Merlin for this_. Arthur ignored it.

"-- the contents of the messages implied that several key members would be meeting, including a founder."

Arthur shut his eyes tightly for a moment, taking a deep breath. A rush of possibilities coursed through his mind, and the most frightening one was that _it had all been a setup_ , destined to draw out the authorities from Paris so that the kidnapping -- Morgana's or someone else's -- could occur without intervention by people who could do something about it, like the Directory's sorcerers. A secondary thought was that Morgause Gorlois, aka Morgause Delamontagne, was in an unique position to be able to plant and disseminate exactly the sort of clandestine messages that had drawn the Directory out of Paris.

He wondered why Bayard hadn't said anything to him about it. His only explanation was that _they hadn't arrived in time, and it seemed as if you had the situation well in hand._

When he opened his eyes again, it was to shake his head. "How many acronyms bailed out of Paris that night?"

"MI-5 continued to maintain a presence, if that's any sort of reassurance," Olaf said, and, once satisfied that Arthur wasn't going to make a scene or attract attention to them, resumed eating. He held up his knife to point in Arthur's direction. "As did the CIA, but Daly's little group of X-Files rejects went sniffing after Smith's people like puppies seeking their mother's teat. It's good that you've taken the approach that you are operating on your own."

"Is that right," Arthur said, his voice flat.

Olaf offered him a thin smile.

"I can't help but wonder. Are you speaking from experience?" Arthur asked, gesturing toward Olaf's right side.

The smile faded. Olaf recovered, and said, "Your food is getting cold."

Arthur couldn't help the small smirk, but his amusement didn't stay for very long. He still didn't know what Morgause wanted with Morgana -- if Morgana was even her first target.

He finished his plate, put his utensils on the side, and watched Olaf sip his tea. Arthur didn't have enough information to make an assumption that was even in the ballpark of accurate, and Olaf wasn't in the habit of being coy.

"You don't know either, do you?" Arthur asked. He tilted his head to the side. "No one has any idea what Morgana has anything to do with this."

"It's entirely possible that it has nothing to do with Morgana at all," Olaf offered, and it was said in a tone that Arthur assumed must have been meant to be reassuring, but triggered a new train of thought instead.

If terrorist-hunter Morgause from Interpol was posing as an Interpol agent investigating the weapon thefts from Pendragon and tracking their movements, it was likely that the interest _was_ because of the weapons. If Arthur made the assumption that Morgause would have been happy with anyone from Pendragon and didn't realize that Morgana was as deadly -- if not deadlier -- as Arthur, there was a simple reason why Morgana would have been the favoured target.

At the moment, Morgana knew more about Pendragon Consulting than Arthur. While Arthur was off playing soldier, learning the desert as if it was the back of his hand, sorting the law and order that was the law and order that came from above, Morgana was manning the home front all on her own, dealing with the real danger that came with tap-dancing around the suffocating red tape of gun control legislations, tricky business deals, and cutthroat competition.

"Tell me about the guns," Arthur said suddenly.

"Pardon?" Olaf's eyebrow raised almost to his hairline, but there was a raised pitch to the edge of his voice, as if he had been caught with his hand in the cookie jar.

"The guns," Arthur said patiently. "The thefts that Interpol is investigating. I'm _sure_ that, when you asked them about Morgause, you also asked them about their investigations concerning Pendragon Consulting."

Olaf didn't answer. Instead, he leaned back and smirked. At the same time, he winced. "Yes. I did take certain liberties with their files."

"And?" Arthur sipped the last of his coffee, pushing the empty cup away. The waiter came by, but Arthur shook his head before he came within ten feet of the table. He'd had enough caffeine; any more than that, and he'd get jittery.

"Well, the thefts go back a decade, if not more," Olaf began. "In fact, I firmly believe that if there was a full accounting of the records, we'd find that there were substantial losses in the beginning of the foundation of your father's empire, and that the usual perils of doing business in such a competitive field cannot account for the entirety of these losses."

Arthur had already come to the same conclusion, but he played along.

"That makes no sense," Arthur said. He paused, frowning slightly. There was no way that his father would allow the business to be losing blood from an open wound this long; he would sooner cauterize it himself with a heated blade than to allow it to continue, no matter how much pain it would cause. He leaned forward slightly, tapping a finger on the table. "I've seen the accountings. I'm aware of the insurance claims. There have been investigations and the police have been involved. And after a decade, if not more..."

Arthur raised his brows, and at Olaf's confirming nod, he continued, "... Interpol has nothing?"

"I wouldn't say _nothing_ ," Olaf said.

The silence dragged on while Olaf finished his meal. The waiter came by, taking their plates away and refreshing Olaf's tea.

Arthur lost his patience. "All right. I'll bite. If not _nothing_ , then what?"

"Well." Olaf fell silent again, and Arthur would have liked nothing more at that moment than to reach out and wipe that smirk off his face. "Consider this. A simple weapons trace results in nothing but dead ends. None of the weapons -- those that Interpol knows about -- has ended up on the black market."

Arthur's excellent breakfast suddenly left a bad taste in his mouth. "Stockpiling?"

"I would assume so; why else steal weapons that you don't sell, redistribute, or use?" Olaf asked. "According to Interpol's records, the _modus operandi_ of the thefts differed each and every time. They have an intensive database of fingerprints; some of them belonging to known criminals, whom, when captured and questioned, can only say that the weapons were delivered to a warehouse, which the investigators later found empty."

The only reason why anyone would stockpile equipment and supplies was in anticipation of a disaster. Arthur wouldn't be surprised if people made certain that they had the weapons on hand to protect themselves and their families in such a situation. But for firearms to be hoarded to this volume -- that was in anticipation of something else.

War.

Arthur knew his history. He'd seen history with his own eyes. There were families who stored weapons; communities, even communes, because their leaders expected that their ways of life would be questioned, even looked upon with suspicion by the government and authorities. There were stories of entire countries run by dictators who prompted the manufacture of all grades of weapons, from simple handguns to nuclear weapons, all under the pretence of national defence in the full expectation that a neighbouring country would attack, or that there would be civil unrest from within.

"And. No one has any idea of whom would be behind this?"

"Speculation only," Olaf said. "You know how it is. Everyone has a conspiracy theory."

Arthur was struck dumb for words. He wished he'd asked the waiter for some water. His eyes scanned the table, connecting the dots. It wouldn't make sense for the weapons to come from only one manufacturer, unless that manufacturer was creating their own war to increase sales. Arthur might not think much of his father's business practices, but he didn't think that the Colonel would go so far as to _create_ his own war.

"Has any other company --"

"Several," Olaf said, anticipating the question. "Some more than others, depending on their primary product line. Some _less_ , which, in other circumstances, would hardly raise a brow. Despite their product lines. However, Interpol's investigation has been thorough; they have been compiling intel on this particular matter from different sources for quite some time."

Arthur leaned forward. "For equivalent weapons production, taking into account the varying degrees of quality, is there any one company that has experienced fewer thefts?"

Olaf raised an approving brow. "Now, that's something that Interpol hasn't taken into account -- but more fools they, for not having the good sense to make an attempt to recruit the best and brightest that Britain has to offer."

"That's funny. I thought you were keen on keeping them for MI-5," Arthur said dryly.

"Don't think that I'm not cross that you signed on with Smith's people," Olaf said, scowling. "I'll get you in the end."

"You're ducking the question, Olaf," Arthur said.

"Hardly," Olaf said. He gestured to the waiter, who came over, took Olaf's bank card, and left. Olaf settled himself and smiled. "How is Merlin?"

"Merlin is fine," Arthur said thinly, not liking the change of conversation, and _definitely_ not liking that Olaf had chosen to change the topic to Merlin. Olaf must have picked up something from his tone, because he smiled.

"You should bring him by. I hear that you two work well together."

The waiter arrived before Arthur could retort, and Olaf took a pen from his inner coat pocket, using it to sign the slip with big, looping letters. "There's something you should keep in mind, Arthur. Unlike some fashions, guns don't go out of style."

He took his card from the slick leather folder, wrapping his copy of the receipt around it. He left the folder on the edge of the table and stood up awkwardly, and this time, Olaf's wince was audible.

"What happened to you?"

"Nothing you need to be concerned about," Olaf said, taking one last sip of tea before putting the cup down and leaving his napkin on the table. "But if you'll accept some friendly advice?"

"From you, Olaf? Always."

"Watch yourself. And that goes for your team as well. I'll be in touch." Olaf smiled, and tossed his pen on the table, where it rolled to a stop in front of Arthur.

Arthur watched Olaf go before he picked up the pen, twisting it around. On the side was a familiar logo.

King Limited.

 

ooOOoo

 

Merlin had been staring at the same line of code for what seemed to be hours -- and probably was. It was programming that had been sent to the email account that Freya had sent him shortly before Algiers, with an urgent note from whoever had sent it -- not Freya -- to crack the code as quickly as possible. Cracking the code wasn't a particularly difficult task depending on the code. Trying to understand the code itself, and, worse, what it was for -- that was different.

The codes received were partial and incomplete. Two hundred and fourteen lines, and nothing more. The pertinent bits -- the parts of the code that would explain _this_ code, was in a section he hadn't received, but that code also wasn't necessary for breaking the section that he had on hand. It didn't mean that Merlin hadn't _tried_ to figure it out. He'd accessed everything that had been sent to that account, including the emails that the idiots at the Directory tried to erase so that he would never see them, and tried to piecemeal all the "assignments" that the NWO was sending him, but it was proving to be more of a nightmare than he'd thought.

For one thing, none of the separate files of code matched. The modules hadn't been written by the same person. Sometimes, in the middle of the same block of code, he would see lines of programming that didn't mesh properly, as if someone else had had a go at hacking, and left it barely functional. That wasn't altogether unusual; the larger the core software, the more coders there were to build it. Ten people could have input on fifty lines of code.

Merlin privately believed that might be one reason why so many security issues existed with certain operating system, but he wasn't an expert.

For another, Merlin wasn't a hardcore programmer, a software specialist, or a systems engineer. He was a communications specialist. He might have been trained to hack and crack, and his engineering background gave him the foundation he needed to do just about virtually anything, but trying to understand programming when he had no idea what the programming language was in the first place was a bit of a pain.

Some of the programming languages didn't even _compute_.

Merlin rubbed his face, blinked dry eyes, and tapped his finger on the keyboard, scrolling down again.

The instructions he'd received with the email had been simple, concise, and even a little bit rude. _Decode encryption key on line 25512_.

Problem number one with the instructions was that the line of code was in the middle of a block of code that had been cut and pasted out of an even larger programming sequence, and that the numbers associated with the lines of code no longer applied. Problem number two was that there were at least seven lines in the block that were encryptions that could be the ones needing decrypting, and each one of them required more computer power than he had right now. His life would be made easier if they just sent Merlin all 25512 lines of code in the first place, because the encryption keys were _no doubt_ hidden somewhere in there.

Problem number three was that Merlin was getting the nagging feeling that perhaps he shouldn't try to decode this particular section, because, even though he wasn't a programmer, a software specialist, or a systems engineer, he could recognize the command sequence that a hacker would use to trigger a shut down for a highly-secure system. He might not know what this particular code was for, but it was alarming all the same.

Particularly when every section of code that he'd been sent since the one immediately preceding Algiers were for exactly the same task, with one critical difference: they were targeting different types of systems.

Merlin shook out his hand, trying to dislodge the dragon's tail from around his wrist. The tail slipped off in a soft, scaly ripple of faint metallic clinking. The dragon made a sound that might mimic indignation if Merlin had added it into the dragon's sound files, then promptly chirped and purred as someone came into the room.

 _Probably Kay_ , Merlin decided, since he'd sent Arthur an automated text already. He leaned forward on his elbows, squinting at the laptop's screen, because maybe taking a close-up look would help him figure out what it was that the NWO was up to.

He idly wondered if he could get the Directory to buy him what he needed to build a new desktop with more processing power than he knew what to do with. Then, with a faint smirk of amusement, he decided that _Arthur_ could buy him what he needed to build a new desktop with more processing power than he knew what to do with, because Merlin was, at the moment, a kept man, and it was about time that he learned what he could do with it and how far he could push Arthur.

There were people talking faintly in the background. Merlin suspected that someone was here to relieve Kay. He couldn't remember the rota; either it was Gwaine's turn, or possibly Perce. Merlin didn't look up, though; it sounded as if they would actually want to talk to him, and right now, Merlin didn't want to be distracted, because he was almost sure he knew what this particular block of code was for.

He tapped the screen, his finger bouncing over the commands, the variables, the language that amounted to a convoluted set of DoIf and EndWhen and LoopUntil, absolutely certain that the variables associated with the code would tell him the answer that he was looking for. Where was this code from?

Merlin ran his hands through his hair, pulling at it. "This is so..."

_Frustrating. Aggravating. Annoying._

If the NWO expected him to be just another cog in the machine, someone else in an assembly line of people who did only one thing, they had something else coming.

The dragon spread its wings and flapped them, chirruping and keening, half in warning, half to get some attention for itself, falling silent when someone touched its muzzle in a gesture that quieted its intent squawking to a calm purr. The dragon curled up on itself, content and satisfied, its tail reaching out to loop around the power adapter in the absence of Merlin's wrist.

Someone pulled Merlin's hands from his head and smoothed down his hair. Merlin swatted at them.

"He's been like that all day," Kay said. "Barely got him to eat lunch, and that was only by dragging his seat from there with him in it."

Merlin heard a soft chuckle behind him. Whoever it was moved away.

His phone buzzed with the half-hour reminder to text Arthur. Merlin reached over, tapped the cell phone without looking at it, and opened another email.

More of the same. Incomprehensible coding, different programming language, encrypted lines of pertinent information that needed to be cracked if someone wanted to hack the program effectively, but there was still no hint, no rhyme or reason, behind the coding itself. Merlin had half a mind to email Freya to have her tell her people that if they hoped to get this work done quickly, it wasn't going to happen unless Merlin had some sort of context.

He was just shy of doing just that when his phone buzzed again. He tapped the big button to send a stock response and went back to work.

There was a sudden flurry of movement nearby, so quick and abrupt that the dragon barely had the chance to bristle wings-wide in warning. A hand was heavy at the back of his neck, and there was hot breath against his ear.

"Are you bloody well kidding me?" Arthur growled. There was no missing the heat in his voice, the suppressed anger. He slapped his cell phone down next to Merlin's, and the stock message that Merlin had just sent was on the display. It was one of the longer texts, as drop-trou-and-let's-do-the-dirty as one could manage using text-speak, and had taken Merlin a good five minutes of thumbing and grinning, wishing he could be there to see Arthur's reaction when Arthur read it.

Arthur's reaction was not what he'd been hoping for.

"Stock messages, Merlin? Is this on a repeating loop? Did you program it to respond without needing your intervention?"

"Um."

Arthur dragged Merlin's chair from the table and moved to stand in front of him. Arthur's hands were heavy on Merlin's shoulders, the fingers digging in painfully. "Well?"

"Um." Merlin winced. "Not since I woke up?"

The disappointment that came over Arthur's expression was _worse_ than the one Merlin had seen in his mum's face when he came home at half one in the morning, pissing drunk and barely able to walk, when he were barely fifteen.

"For fuck's sake, Merlin," Arthur said, his voice louder now, and this time, there was no missing the cheese-grater edge of anger in his voice. "What would've happened if someone came in while the rest of us were gone? If they'd hurt Kay and grabbed you? I wouldn't have known it until it was too late, would I? You would've been long gone --"

"No, that wouldn't have happened, I'm not that easy --"

"Merlin!" Arthur said sharply. His lips pressed together, and, a little more calmly, he said, "Merlin. I don't care. I really don't. You might be able to bring a building down over their heads, you might be able to hold them off indefinitely with those shields of yours, but that's all it is -- a bunch of _maybes_. You told me yourself you can't guarantee that your magic will work all the time -- and the sooner you get your head out of your arse and realize that _I'm not risking you_ , the better. Now get that damn thing off your phone. If something happens to you and whoever's with you, I want to know about it the bloody _minute_ it happens. Do you understand?"

"Um." Merlin's cheeks flushed. "Right. Um. Sorry. I'll do that. First thing."

"Now, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said. "I want to see you do it."

Merlin scowled. He felt like a child again, rebuffed by his elders for doing something wrong, and he didn't like it coming from Arthur. He crossed his arms over his chest instead, and raised a brow. "You don't trust me to do it?"

"I trust you to do it. I want to see you do it for my own peace of mind," Arthur said softly, one hand drifting from Merlin's shoulder to his neck, his fingers stroking the skin gently. "Please."

Arthur looked at him with eyes gone dark with worry, his brow pinched in concern, fear and panic bleeding out of him in microliter amounts, drop by drop, hardly fast enough to calm the adrenaline leaving a slight tremble to his gestures. Merlin licked his lips and sighed, closing his eyes, feeling his own resistance collapse like a flimsy house of cards trying to hold fast in hurricane-class winds.

Merlin reached over his shoulder, fumbled for his phone, and grabbed Arthur's first by accident before finding his own. He unlocked it and started with erasing the stock messages file, deleting all the texts in his outbox at Arthur's insistence so that he wouldn't be able to reconstruct the file later, and dismantling the program, thrashing it in one go. He held out the phone for Arthur to look at. "Okay?"

"Thank you," Arthur said, his hand sliding up from Merlin's neck to brush fingers through his hair.

Merlin swatted at his hand, pulling his head away. "Can I at least turn off the alarm, since you're here?"

"Only if you hurry up and get ready," Arthur said.

"Get ready for what?" Merlin frowned, raising a brow when Arthur took a step back to put himself on display, and what a display it was.

As much as Merlin liked seeing Arthur in his business suits, to drool over the way the tailored trousers clung to his arse, the fitted shirts that hugged his broad shoulders and tapered down to his waist, there were few things nicer than seeing Arthur dressed _down_ the only way someone posh like him could be dressed down.

He was wearing a pair of dark blue jeans -- snug at the hip and waist and arse, the way they should be, loose at the legs, and a long-sleeved button-down in blue-and-orange Madras plaid under a faded green wool V-neck sweater that did everything to show off just how fit he was. His hair was loose and tussled, his cheek smooth-shaved, his eyes bright and refreshed from a long day. He was fresh from the shower, with just the lightest touch of that aftershave that Merlin liked on Arthur -- but had never told him -- and if Merlin wasn't mistaken, Arthur looked like he was ready to go out on a date.

Merlin looked him up, and he looked him down again, committing the sight of Arthur like this to memory. He looked like a fashion model, except with an extra edge of _real_ and solid and _his_ , and Merlin couldn't help but grin.

"Weren't you the one complaining about being neglected, sweetcheeks?" Arthur asked, trying not to smile. The end result was a smug, self-confident look that Merlin wanted to snog right off.

"We're going out, Merlin. Dinner and a movie."

"And what makes you think I'm available?" Merlin crossed his arms, reaching out with a foot to poke at Arthur's leg. Arthur took a slight step back, dodging the manoeuver. "I mean, I could be going out with Gwaine --"

"You are?" Gwaine asked, sitting up suddenly, twisting around to look over the back of the couch. He recovered quickly. "I mean, yes, we are --"

"No, you're not," Arthur and Perceval said simultaneously. Arthur and Perceval shared a quick glance.

"But you two are welcome to come along," Arthur said, as if they weren't supposed to come along anyway in the guise of their bodyguards, because they had a cover to maintain even when they were on their downtime. "We'll do a double."

"Dinner and a movie, huh?" Gwaine asked, looking at Perceval.

Perceval shrugged a massive shoulder and said, "It sounds good to me."

"I'll go have a shower and pretty myself up," Gwaine said, getting up. He patted his hair -- already growing out long and luxurious now that he didn't have to keep it military-regulation short. Merlin had seen pictures of Gwaine when he was younger, with long wavy hair that went down to his shoulders.

"Oi, Lieutenant Metrosexual. That'll take too long. We're leaving in an hour," Arthur said, glancing at his watch. "We have reservations."

"It'll take your boy about that long to get himself ready, if you know what I mean," Gwaine said, a lecherous grin matching the way he wriggled his brows.

Bohrs stood up abruptly. "Your flirting's so goddamn _adorable_. I'm going to go and puke."

He went to the kitchen, opened the door wide, and started piling food into his arms.

"I guess it'll be up to me to hold down the fort," Kay said, patting the arms of his armchair. He leaned forward and claimed the remote from the coffee table.

"Just to be sure," Gwaine said, stopping himself short of disappearing down the hall, where the others were bunking down in the spare bedrooms. "Merlin's my date, yeah?"

Arthur whipped around, but before he could answer, Perceval said, "If you don't shut up and go get ready, I'm taking Kay."

"Kay?"

"Yeah, Kay." Perceval snapped his finger in front of Kay's face, getting his attention. "You'd come out with me, yeah?"

"What?" Kay blinked in confusion and frowned. "Right, sure. You're not hard on the eyes, and even if you're not really my type, it's a free dinner and I don't have to put out, yeah?"

"Maybe you'll _want_ to put out," Perceval said.

Kay spread his hands contemplatively. "Not in this universe, but, hey, stranger things have happened."

Gwaine's expression fell just enough that Merlin choked back a laugh. "Right. Going to get ready --"

Merlin's phone rang, and Gwaine cut himself off in mid-sentence. Merlin glanced at the caller display and looked up sharply at Arthur, showing him the phone. Arthur frowned and turned to the others. "Keep it down. It's Freya."

Kay turned down the volume on the telly, Bohrs put down his load on the island in the kitchen and shut the refrigerator door, and Gwaine gravitated closer, as if the cell phone had suddenly gained enough mass to have its own gravitational pull.

"Hello?" Merlin said.

"Is this Merlin?" Freya asked uncertainly.

"It's me, Freya," Merlin said, glancing at Arthur with a slight _what do I say_ grimace that Arthur answered with a _I don't know_ shrug. "What's up?"

The uncertainty in Freya's tone turned to annoyance. "Weren't you supposed to call me when you got back to London? You are back in London, aren't you?"

"I am, I am," Merlin said. "I'm sorry I didn't call earlier. I'm just. We're just getting settled in, you know? There's a lot going on."

"Is everything all right?"

"Yeah, yeah. Everything's fine," Merlin said, getting up from his chair. "I've just been really busy, and so has Arthur. I mean, we've only just been back a little while. There's a lot to catch up on. How about you?"

"The usual," Freya said, and Merlin could hear the smile in her voice. "Bryn's new club has been open for a few weeks and it's doing great. I've been helping him with it, we've been pretty busy too, but we're finally free of the worst of the work, and... Merlin, if you've been working, do you think you could use a break?"

Merlin half-laughed and glanced at the laptop. He rubbed his eyes as a matter of course. "Yeah, I could definitely use a break, but it's not going to happen, because the things I'm working on --"

"Who are you talking to?" Arthur asked abruptly, his voice deep and grave.

Merlin startled, because Arthur had come closer, his breath on the back of Merlin's neck, and when Merlin turned around to look at him, Arthur's eyes were dark. There was a warmth against his hip, a thumb sliding through the loop of his jeans, tugging gently.

"Uh." He lowered the phone from his face a little. "My friend Freya. I told you about her, yeah?"

"What does she want?" Arthur asked. Rough, irritated, as if the phone call from Freya had interrupted something very important.

"Um." Merlin's eyes widened and he pressed his lips together. "She just called to..."

"To invite you out, you and your Arthur," Freya said, because of course she'd heard everything that Arthur had said. Arthur had _meant_ for Freya to hear. "Because you need a break from everything, don't you? You two could meet us at the club -- you know we'd love to see you again."

Merlin rather doubted that, because maybe it was true for Freya, but there was no way Bryn would be hopping up and down in excitement at the chance to meet up with Merlin. Not of his own free will, anyway. Merlin played along, and said into the phone, "I know, that would be nice. Wait, hold on a second, let me talk to Arthur."

He held the phone loosely against his ear, not quite muffling the voice pickup, and mouthed, _I'm so sorry_. He knew Arthur understood what he meant, because Arthur's shoulders slumped, and he muffled a small sigh.

"Arthur."

"Merlin?"

"She wants to know if we want to go to their new club? Do you think we could?"

"We have other plans, Merlin," Arthur said, and Merlin didn't doubt that the irritation in his voice was real.

"We could go after dinner," Merlin said, putting a little bit of persuasion in his voice. "Come on, Arthur. We can go to the movies anytime. I'd really like to see Freya. Plus, we haven't gone clubbing in _ages_."

"Since Algiers," Arthur reminded him flatly.

There was a soft little gasp on the phone.

"But that was Algiers, yeah?" Merlin pressed. "It couldn't happen here. We'll be all right. I mean, I won't leave you for a second."

Arthur didn't answer him right away. His eyes drifted up to the fading bruise of Merlin's black eye, sliding down to Merlin's lips. There was the curl of a small smirk in the corner of Arthur's mouth.

"Arthur? Please?" Merlin said.

The silence stretched a little longer. Finally, Arthur released a small exhalation. "You promise?"

"I promise," Merlin said with a small grin and raised eyebrows to hint that wasn't _all_ that he promised.

"All right," Arthur said with a nod, letting go of Merlin to walk away, gesturing at Gwaine and Perceval to hurry up to get ready. "Tell your friend we might come."

Merlin grinned, and turned away, bringing the phone back to his ear. "Freya --"

"Oh my God. I really can't wait to meet him now," Freya said, a little breathless. "I'll text you the address --"

"Freya -- he said we _might_ come -- I'm not saying that we will, because, you know, well, I know how he's like --"

"Too right you know what he's like," Freya said with a shaky laugh, as if her imagination had run away with her in tow, and she needed a cool shower as a result. Merlin stared at the phone, half in worry; he hadn't thought that Freya might have a kink about seeing men together. "Just try, all right? It'll be fun. I'll see you tonight!"

She hung up on him without giving him a chance to say good-bye. Merlin made sure that he was disconnected, and caught Arthur's eyes.

"I'm sorry about that, I know you wanted --"

_A date, like you've been telling me about for ages --_

"It's all right," Arthur said, shaking his head but not making eye contact. "Go and wash up."

Merlin stayed where he was for a long moment, not quite sure what to do. He could tell that Arthur wasn't best pleased by his plans getting derailed -- again -- and he didn't know how to make it any better. A long list of apologies and promises that they could do something, later, just the two of them died on his lips, at the line of tension growing in Arthur's shoulders.

"Well?" Arthur asked, glancing at him. "We don't have all night, _Mer_ lin."

"Yeah, all right. I won't be long." Merlin left his phone on the dining room table, right next to his dragon, and went up the stairs. He cast a glance over his shoulder, but Arthur was talking quietly to Kay and Bohrs.

Arthur was standing at the dresser, staring at his reflection in the mirror without really seeing it, thumbing at the watch in his hand without putting it on, when Merlin emerged from the bathroom, a damp towel wrapped around his waist, running another one through his hair. Arthur startled out of his deep thoughts, and Merlin stopped dead where he was, and they stared at each other for thirty seconds before they both spoke at the same time.

"I know you're pissed, I should've just said no, that we'd do it another time --"

"I'm not upset, if that's what you're thinking, I just wish we could have a chance to be alone, just the two of us --"

They stopped at the same time. Arthur chuckled, and Merlin shook his head.

"If I have to kidnap you and book us into a hotel somewhere on the other side of the world under an assumed name to have you to myself, I will," Arthur said. "And I might do as well, if this is a start of a trend. But right now, we're working, and..."

"We come second," Merlin finished for him.

Arthur's eyes snapped up, and he crossed the distance between them. "No. Absolutely not. We don't come second. Not now, not ever. It's not that. It's... The job... The job is going to make us do things that we're not going to like."

"Like breaking dates?" Merlin said, smiling weakly.

Arthur didn't answer right away. One hand rested on Merlin's hips, the other drifted over Merlin's tattoo, the touch so light that Merlin shivered helplessly. "We're going to a club, _Mer_ lin. I'm some sort of complete bastard. What do you think is going to happen?"

Merlin tilted his head, trying to catch Arthur's eyes, wishing he could read minds just so that he could know what was causing the troubled expression weighing down his brow. "We'll have some fun, yeah? Whatever happens, we'll be fine."

Arthur looked up, finally, and Merlin barely registered the small whisper of relief before Arthur reached in and kissed him, chaste, light, soft.

"I was wondering," Arthur said, his body a heavy weight against Merlin's, pressing him into the wall. His hand stroked the length of Merlin's tattoo, his fingers bumping over his ribs. "We can't wear those necklaces that Kathy gave us. They don't fit our covers, and if anyone at the club can sense magic, they'll give us away. Merlin. These... Our tattoos, the swords, they're the same. Can you do something to them, to link them?"

The question took a long time to sink in. Merlin tilted his head, trying to catch Arthur's drifting gaze. "You want me to..."

"Bind them," Arthur said firmly. "Bind us together. Somehow."

"Arthur --" Merlin frowned. "You know that --"

"I was paying attention when they told us about bindings," Arthur said patiently, a curious tone in his voice. "I know they're not easy to break. _If_ they can be broken. I've been thinking about this for a while. I want you to do it."

"Arthur --" Merlin hesitated, the words suffocating in his chest.

Arthur mistook Merlin's silence for refusal, because he said, quickly, desperately, "Merlin, I love you. I don't want to lose you. They nearly took Morgana. I won't let them have you."

Merlin stared. Arthur's words rang in his ears. He was frozen, paralyzed by the rush of emotion fuelling the rapid beat of his heart. He thought he would suffocate, because there was no air to breathe.

Arthur covered his hand with his face, pulling away, shaking his head. "Forget it. It was just a thought --"

"I love you, too," Merlin blurted out, catching Arthur's hand.

The tension melted out of Arthur's shoulders, his eyes softened, and he smiled.

"Are you sure about this? It's not -- " _It's not because you're trying to protect me?_

Arthur's hand touched Merlin's cheek. "I'm sure. I can wait until you are, if you're not --"

Merlin reached for Arthur's waist, tugging up his sweater, his shirt, sliding his hand up Arthur's side until he found the exact spot where the tattoo was. He had it memorized right down to the tiniest detail, every bump of bone, every ripple of muscle, every line of ink.

What he wanted to memorize now was the emotion in Arthur's eyes.

He knew a million binding spells. There were spells for binding against harm, for binding to a place, for binding one object to another. He didn't know a spell for binding people. It didn't matter, because Merlin's magic struggled free of its restraints, as if it knew exactly what to do.

The magic tingled down Merlin's arm, warming the spot where his hand touched Arthur, curled and wrapping around the two of them, tying and braiding and weaving until the two of them were encircled by faint, glittering tendrils of silver and gold. The cording tightened, coming ever closer until it touched skin, disappearing in sparks of light as it passed through their bodies.

Arthur gasped softly, but he didn't pull away. If anything, he took a step forward until he was pressed against Merlin, his breath so warm and teasing that Melin thought that they risked missing their reservation entirely.

The tightening increased; pulling and pushing, a yawn and a sigh. An intense heat scorched Merlin's ribs where his tattoo was. It was the same heat that was glowing around Arthur's tattoo, shining through Merlin's hand, through the fabric of his shirt and sweater.

"Merlin." Arthur's voice was soft, fearless, trusting. Their swords glowed, shining bright, a magical brand binding their swords, their souls together.

The heat faded slowly, leaving a teasing tingle behind, a keen awareness of one sword in proximity to its twin.

"I don't want to lose you either," Merlin whispered, and kissed Arthur.

 

ooOOoo

 

It was hard to concentrate on the maple syrup crème brûlée -- a delicacy that the chef had imported from Québec City that was putting Merlin in a post-coital state of complete, utter gibberish without having been shagged first -- when Merlin was wearing _those_ clothes.

He was wearing slick black jeans that were just this side shy of being lycra skinnies, and still somehow managing to look like he hadn't put them on -- they'd been _built_ around him. They were cut in a low rise and held in place by a wide belt and a triple line of silver star studs, but neither did much to cover up the line of muscled abdominals or the jut of hipbone peeking over the waistband.

Arthur did not know where Merlin had dug out that biker vest, the leather thick and rough and worn, the gunmetal zippers standing out in weighty contrast to the deceptive softness of the rest of his clothes. He was wearing one of Arthur's long-sleeved crewneck tees -- an overpriced shirt that Arthur had received as a gift but couldn't wear because it was several sizes too small -- and it was stretched tight across Merlin's chest, the arms pulled up to his elbows, loose around the waist but not long enough to cover up the sliver of skin that flirted with Arthur every time Merlin stretched his arms, twisted around, or _breathed_.

Arthur wasn't the only one to be distracted. While waiting at the bar for their table, a young businessman who thought Merlin was available sent over a glass of expensive whiskey that Arthur appropriated, raised high in the air, and mouthed _thank you_ before drinking. The waiter had dropped a plate on the next table, covering the pretty brunette in the terribly gauche red satin shirt with squash bisque. Gwaine hadn't stopped staring since Merlin took off the Zegna Sport jacket that he'd picked up when shopping in Paris with Morgana. Even Perceval couldn't help but glance at Merlin appreciatively.

Not once. Not twice.

_Several times._

Arthur wondered if he was going to have to start treating Perceval with the same level of distrust around Merlin as he did Gwaine.

In comparison to Merlin, Gwaine and Perceval were dressed in more subdued, day-to-day casual wear, appropriate for both dinner at an expensive restaurant and clubbing at one of the hottest new clubs in town.

Gwaine had looked it up online -- the Pentagram had received starred reviews from the underground reviewers, and the magazines in-the-know dropped _Pentagram_ as an up-and-coming club for everyone who was someone, and if anyone wanted a glimpse at the ultra-exclusive setting, they had best do it now, before it became ultra-exclusive, with line-ups of people yearning to get in to be _seen_ that stretched out nearly as long as the line-up to get into the Louvre in Paris at the height of the tourist season.

The Pentagram was, from the first-glimpse, let's-show-off photographs of the empty club a few days shy before the grand opening that had been posted on the web in a tantalizing teaser of shrewd promotion tactics, a class above and beyond the Lockdown. Where Lockdown catered to the lowest possible denomination of humanity, the Pentagram was definitely upper class, meant for the business up-and-comers, the celebrities and nearly-there, the minor nobilities who partied as if they were major nobilities, and everyone who was important in the way that _important_ mattered.

So, of course, Arthur wasn't going to ignore the invitation. He had the private glee of knowing that Morgana hadn't been there yet.

Even if the club was on the glitz and glamour scale, neither Arthur nor Merlin had missed the implication of the name. Merlin had rolled his eyes, and Arthur had bitten back a curse, because if there was anything that they did not need to be around right now, not until they were set up properly, it was to hang out at a place that was crawling with NWO. And, given that the club was owned by Merlin's old friend Bryn, there was no doubt that things could, and would, go all sorts of wrong.

Merlin had made it clear that he understood that things might get rough -- not just because of where they were going and who they were meeting, but because of their covers and the situation they were in. He'd shut up Arthur's worries with a soft kiss and an earnest _I trust you_ , had tapped the tattoo that he'd bound, and had said, _Now we won't lose each other, and, bonus, you won't get taken over by the zombie spell again. But you'll know it's happening, so you can at least pretend and play along, yeah?_

Arthur hadn't thought that Merlin would link their tattoos right then and there. He'd assumed it would involve research, that Merlin would need to prepare a ritual, put together a spell. Whatever it took, Arthur was willing to wait until it was ready, until _Merlin_ was ready, because it was a lot to ask for --

_Commitment_

\-- but Merlin hadn't hesitated. He hadn't needed a spell. Merlin had released his magic and let his magic forge something between them out of sheer force of will. There had been a sense of possession, of binding, of two broken edges finding each other and fitting in neatly at the jagged seams, welding together where it had been shattered only to come out stronger in between.

Arthur's tattoo was still tingling.

Their relationship wasn't following the usual rules and rituals involved in the while boy-meets-boy, boy-courts-boy, boy-marries-boy dance. It had gotten off on the wrong foot, taken a reverse route, skipping over the important parts while rushing through others. As much as Arthur had begun to accept that what they had would never have a proper start, that he couldn't plan their relationship, dates and outings and all, Arthur didn't have to like it.

But he would have this one thing. The knowledge that as much as he had his mark on Merlin, Merlin had his mark on him.

The thought made him smile.

The waiter came back with the bill, and Arthur signed off on the slip, putting away his card, and tried not to watch too intently as Merlin scooped up every last bit of crème brûlée and ran his tongue over the spoon, sucking every bit of sugary goodness with hollowed cheeks and soft suckling sounds that were positively _indecent_.

 _Jesus fucking hell._ Arthur wasn't going to last the night, if Merlin kept this up. The worst part was, Merlin _might just be_ completely oblivious to what he was doing to the rest of them.

Perceval coughed and averted his eyes.

Gwaine didn't.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Shall we go?"

Merlin's eyes -- in this low lighting, framed by black eyelashes, his eyes were a flash of neon blue that was positively startling -- flicked up to meet Arthur's in an expression of innocent surprise, and he put down his spoon into the empty bowl with a big wide grin. "Oh, yeah. Sure. I'm done now. I'll just hit the loo, yeah?"

"Thank _fuck_ ," Gwaine moaned, shaking his head. They both watched Perceval and Merlin head to the washrooms, releasing heavy, frustrated sighs. "I need a bloody cold shower."

 _You and me both,_ Arthur thought.

It was Perceval who drove them to the Pentagram, parking the car a few blocks away. Arthur and Merlin left their coats in the car, and the four of them headed toward the club, looking no different than any other group of young men who were out for a night on the town.

From the outside, the club was a large, imposing building made out of sheer black polished stone and tinted glass so dark that not even a laser could pierce the gloom, but if someone looked at the walls from the right angle, they could make out the shimmer of holographic images. There were symbols and runes that might have been haphazardly lifted from a magical book by an artist without any sense of what they were doing, and all that they missed was the last symbol, or the right order, or even a bit of magic, to turn the club into some sort of supernatural death trap.

Merlin stopped to stare more than once. "Do you see them?"

"No, not really," Perceval said, glancing off to the walls before paying attention to their surroundings. "There one second, gone the next."

Arthur was not at all reassured by how Merlin's expression pinched in concern. "What is it, Merlin?"

Merlin glanced at him and shook his head. "I have no idea."

The sidewalk was lined with women in skimpy clothing -- as if the amount of cleavage correlated with their chances of getting into the Pentagram -- and men dressed up to the nines with the expectation that the quality of their clothing and flashed dosh would get them the crooked finger _come in_ from the bouncer. It looked as if they'd been lined up for hours before the club had even opened, and it was going on nearly eleven.

They bypassed the line and headed up to the front, getting catcalls from the men snorting at the thought that their lot would get in over them given what they were wearing, and whistles from the women who wanted to be their dates if they made it past the red velvet rope. The three bouncers were, collectively, nearly seventy stone of bone and muscle and thick necks dressed in matching black turtlenecks and charcoal grey jackets, and their combined widths spanned the breath of the double-wide doors leading into the club.

Besides the cloying, teasing, there-one-moment, gone-the-next sigils on the outer walls, the only indication that this was the right place was the subtle signage over the entrance, the letters in block shapes made by a jerky calligraphy pen, the first A in Pentagram done up in the inverted star-circle that was familiar because it was all over the media, but not strictly accurate for magical purposes according to the Directory's specialists.

"We're on the list," Arthur told the man with the clipboard, taking note that his hands were bigger than the clipboard itself. "Arthur Pendragon. Merlin Emrys. These are our guests."

The bouncer looked Arthur up and down dubiously, flipping through the sheets tacked to the board, running a sausage-thick finger down each page until it stopped dead in the middle and flicking up a curious gaze at the group. He dropped the clipboard to his side and reached for the end of the rope, unhooking it to let them in.

A couple of the girls in line squealed and waved, trying to get their attention. Arthur distinctly heard one bloke scoff, "Why does that ponce get to go in and we don't?"

The music -- from a live deejay, or something close to it -- blasted at them even before the doors swung open enough to let them through, threatening to shatter eardrums and induce nosebleeds. There was a cavernous echo around them, a cacophony of noise and shrieking notes that didn't bode well for the quality of the music once they were out of the long dark corridor that led to a doorway with swirling vertigo of lights.

The corridor had high ceilings and black light that set everything that was of a pale colour into a strange fluorescent blue. Along the walls were pinstripes at least a foot apart, and a quick glance revealed that they were made out of tiny, magical symbols. Midway through, Arthur felt a distinctive _frisking_ , a frisson of energy, a million tiny ghostly hands that drew a startled yelp from Gwaine. Arthur felt a tug on the gun hidden in his ankle holster, but a quick glance down showed no one and nothing there.

The gun was still in its holster, the weight familiar and comforting, and Arthur wondered what that was about.

Past another one of those pinstripes was a completely different sensation of cold wash and ice cutting clean through them. It was strange, in that Arthur had the distinct feeling that he had been scanned at a molecular level, as if something was trying to divine or divide the physics that was holding him together.

There was a soft, surprised sound from Perceval.

Arthur moved against Merlin, an arm around his waist, pulling him close. "What was that?"

Merlin didn't look at him; his attention was fixed on the walls, his eyes as wide as a skittish deer, but he reached up and wrapped an arm around Arthur's shoulders as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and said in his ear, "The first one was a weapons check and a binding. If you try to draw them now, they'll stay stuck in the holsters. If you get them out, they won't fire. It's like a peace knot, only, you're not supposed to know they're there."

"Fuck," Arthur muttered, and considered leaving.

"I'll take them off as soon as I can," Merlin said with a thin-lipped nod.

Arthur hoped that _as soon as I can_ was the equivalent of _not doing anything stupid like getting caught doing it_. "You said that was the first one. There were more?"

"A check for magical weapons, but we don't have any. A check for magical artefacts, but no one's got one, yeah?" Merlin glanced over his shoulder at Gwaine and Perceval.

"Left them at home," Arthur said. At least, he hoped that was the case. He wouldn't put it past Gwaine wanting to keep the skull-and-crossbones charm from Kathy in his back pocket on the _just in case_ that something might happen. "Anything else?"

"Yeah," Merlin said, and under the blue light, he looked even more pale than usual. "A check for magic users."

Arthur stopped dead. "Merlin."

It was only because of the pressure of Merlin's arm around his shoulders that Arthur kept moving. "No, no. It's all right. It skipped over me."

"What? How?" Arthur shot Merlin a raised brow, but Merlin shook his head.

"It was a near thing. I'll tell you later."

They emerged out of the corridor and into the bright and dizzying of scintillating and spectacular. The dance floor was a raised bed of gleaming aluminum and thick, frosted plexiglass that could contain the volume pressure of a whale tank. Flashing lights of different pastel colours shone from beneath, casting the dancers in every hue from sickly green to flushed pink. The bar -- and there were two of them, one on the east wall, stretching from corner to corner in lacquered black, the other on the west wall, stretching from corner to corner in lacquered white, both with mirrored backsides, bottles lining every shelves, and beautiful people with acrobatic juggling skills tending bar.

There were four tiers to the Pentagram. The dance floor was the lowest. The mingling room that stretched around the main floor and hugged the bars was another. The third level was a big, broad area with standing-room only tables and recessed booths. Another level past that was a private-box, VIP only section that made Arthur think of privileged stadium seating, and it looked as if each corner had its own bar, its own DJ, and its own dance floor.

There were also only five boxes, wide and broad, staggered deep into the building like raised pyramids. Lights flashed from the ceiling-to-floor glass windows that wrapped around those private party floors.

The club's layout was big, ostentatious, and stank of _rich and expensive_ , a visible class division between the levels that had more than one line of people lingering at the foot of the stairs leading to the in-the-sky stadium boxes, in the hopes of catching the eye of someone who might bring them in, or of slipping past the bouncers standing guard at the foot of each.

Unlike Merlin, who was gawping, Arthur was impressed, but not overwhelmed. Gwaine, behind him, had been in so many bars and clubs in his life that his attention was focused more on the little details -- like how many drinks he could get someone to buy him, the length of the girls' non-existent skirts, or how cute the boys busting moves were, even if they couldn't dance worth shite. Perceval heaved the breath of a man who didn't like being where he was, and hoped that this torture would be over soon.

It was well known that clubs liked to have an excess ratio of women to men, and the Pentagram was no different. It was a shrewd business tactic. Women danced more, they flirted more, they could twist men around their fingers and get any number of them to buy them the expensive sugary drinks that were on the bar's menu. And, since all the pretty women were inside the club, all the men who were stuck waiting in line could only hope that they would one day, by chance, get inside. It was the supply-and-demand tactic -- if the demand was there, the Pentagram would provide.

"Drinks?" Gwaine asked, but Arthur shook his head.

Arthur tugged Merlin close, his lips brushing his ear. "Text Freya. Tell her we're here."

"Hm?" Merlin glanced at him, round-eyed, raised-eyebrows, and nodded. "Right."

He slid his arm from Arthur's shoulders, reached into his jeans, and did a little, completely _illegal_ wriggle to pry it out of his side pocket.

_We made it where are u_

"Can you get rid of the gun bindings now?" Arthur asked, glancing around. He hadn't let go of Merlin's waist.

"Yeah, I just need a cover," Merlin said, shifting a little so that he was right in front of Arthur, but he bowed his head as if he were looking at his phone, his fingers moving over the screen. It seemed to take no time at all, because Merlin said, "Yeah, it's done. Real low-level, enough to stop most people."

Arthur took the phone out of Merlin's hand when he saw it flash with an incoming message and read Freya's response: _I see u stay where u are am comng 2 get u_.

Gwaine came close enough to say, "Not many ways out of here, Arthur."

"Short of making our own way," Arthur said with a nod, handing Merlin the phone. "You and Perce stay close. And no drinking."

"No drinking?" Gwaine looked gutted. "I'm not going to fit in if I'm not drinking."

"Then grab a beer and nurse _it all night_ if you have to," Arthur warned. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

"You never have a good feeling about anything," Gwaine complained, but it was a hollow grumble. "What was that down in the tunnel back there?"

"Merlin says it was a weapons binding and a magic check."

"Say what?" Gwaine glanced around before favouring Arthur with a raised brow.

"You didn't wear Kathy's pendant, did you?"

"No, it clashed with my underpants. There's such a thing as wearing too many Jolly Rogers," Gwaine said with a grin, but his expression turned serious. "You said a weapons binding?"

"Merlin took it off," Arthur said, nodding when he saw Gwaine's breath of relief. "If anyone asks, you can't draw your gun and you can't shoot it. Don't use it unless it's absolutely necessary. Make sure Perce knows."

Gwaine nodded. His eyes flicked to something over Arthur's shoulder, and Perceval moved to intervene, placing himself between Merlin and the small brunette who was shoving her way past the crowd to get to him.

She stopped dead on seeing Perceval and called out, "Um. Merlin?"

Arthur snapped his fingers in front of Merlin's eyes, taking his phone out of his hands again and gesturing. "Is this your friend?"

Merlin's grin split across his face, and he moved past Perceval to throw his arms around Freya in a big hug. Arthur winced inwardly -- this was exactly the sort of thing that Perceval and Gwaine were here to prevent -- someone getting close to Merlin and Arthur. And here was Merlin, breaking every damn rule.

Arthur supposed that at least it was very much in character for Merlin. He exchanged glances with Perceval, who looked as if he were about to separate the two, and after a considering moment, shook his head in the negative. If Freya were going to hurt Merlin, she would've done it a long time ago, and definitely wouldn't risk it in her own club in front of all these people.

Up close, when it wasn't from across a dirty, dank bar or from fuzzy telephoto lens photographs, Freya was the plain sort of girl-next-door pretty that would hardly have men falling over themselves at her feet, but attractive enough in her own way that any one man would be lucky to have her. She was very slim and svelte, curves in all the right places, her hair up in a cascade of curls, her make-up on the earthy shades side of things with only the faintest bit of glitter to make her stand out. Her skin-tight sequined deep royal purple dress had a deep scoop neck and a too-short hemline, but she had the perfect sort of physique -- a lot on the waif side, painfully thin to look at -- to pull it off.

Arthur couldn't hear what they were saying over the loud volume blasting from nearby speakers, but the two were excited to see each other if their gestures and laughter was anything to go by. More than once, Freya's eyes drifted from Merlin to Arthur until Merlin got the hint and turned around, pulling her past Perceval and closer to Arthur.

"Arthur! This is Freya!"

Arthur gave her a cursory glance and nodded before turning away without giving her a second look. "There's four floating bouncers on the dance floor, three on the second level. Three on the front door. One on each staircase. Probably a couple of eyes on the back door and up top," he told Gwaine.

"Do you want me to do a quick scout?"

"No. If anything's going to happen, it won't be because of the bouncers. Just keep an eye out, and if something clusters, we'll put them between us and whatever's coming our way."

"Cannon fodder," Gwaine said with a grin.

When Arthur turned back to Merlin and Freya, it was to Freya's _OMG I couldn't hate you more_ glare. Merlin was swatting her hand away from the still-discoloured area around his eye, and as Arthur came closer, he heard Merlin insist, "Jesus, Freya, it's nothing, yeah? You remember when I walked into that pole at school? It was like that. That's all it is. Leave me -- will you stop!"

Arthur used Merlin's distraction to come up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist, and shoving Merlin's phone into his pant pocket in a proprietary gesture that Freya didn't miss. Neither did Merlin, because he shivered when Arthur said, lips close to his ear, "Is there a problem?"

"No! No problem," Merlin said, a little too quickly, and Arthur pulled away from him, raising a brow.

"Merlin?"

"Freya thinks you hit me," Merlin confessed.

"I didn't say that!" Freya said, indignant. Her eyes went from Merlin to Arthur and back.

"You implied it!" Merlin said. "You asked me if I wanted him thrown out!"

Arthur gave Freya a wry grin, turning Merlin around in his arms. He lifted up Merlin's chin, tilted his head, and lightly touched the edges where the bruising was still a little bit green. "Walked right into the door for this one, didn't you, Merlin? I told you to watch where you were going. When are you going to stop being so clumsy?"

Merlin raised a hand and scratched his forehead, his fingers brushing Arthur's. "Probably never?"

"I'll have to buy stock in plasters. Make a fortune just off of you. It would be easier if I'd just tuck you in a bundle of bubble wrap," Arthur said, letting Merlin go. Freya's expression went from fiercely defensive to immensely confused, because the presence of the black eye didn't quite mesh with what she was seeing from Arthur now.

As much as Arthur had hated it -- and still hated it -- that Bohrs had struck Merlin in the first place, he mentally thanked Bohrs, because it was only adding to Arthur's cover story.

"Why don't we go sit down?" Freya asked. "Bryn's upstairs. We've got a booth."

Freya took Merlin's hand, tugged him close, and whispered -- or rather, she did the equivalent of whispering in a loud, noisy club where people were already shouting over the music in order to be heard -- at Merlin while glancing in alternating frowns and scowls over her shoulder at Arthur. Gwaine somehow managed to follow while staying in front of Freya, breaking a path through the crowd with the experience of someone who would have spent his entire adult life in clubs and bars if it hadn't been for the army getting in the way.

Up close, the recessed booths were more of recessed rooms, with a padded bench in a teardrop shape around a low table, and part of the room was a little stage a step below the tableau, as if it were the very spot where a peasant would stand, hat in hand, hoping for his Kingship's attention.

There were three men in the booth and a gaggle of scantily-clad girls, all of them blonde, overdone, and overstuffed in the chest area. Arthur recognized Bryn Nash from the Lockdown and from the Directory photographs, and he was even more of a miserable son of a bitch than he'd sounded from Merlin's description.

Despite the wavy-lined tattoo on the side of his face and the tribal whorls on his throat, the nose ring and pierced ears, Bryn Nash had elected to dress in businessman prim, going the route of a light-grey three-piece suit, the vest buttoned up, his gaudy lavender shirt open at the throat and cuffs. He had his arm around a girl who couldn't be more than eighteen, his arm dangling so low over her shoulder that he was fingering her breast, and she looked drunk -- or stoned -- enough to drift down right then and there and do something with her mouth that she was already doing with her hand.

The man embodied scum with a capital S, full of cocky jailyard balls, and he wore the mantle of _respectable businessman_ in the same way a streetwise toff would carry a gun -- while shooting from the hip, in a wide stance, and not knowing how to use it in the first place.

Stepping on the threshold had exactly one startling effect: the pounding music and dull roar of sheer, brutal noise was abruptly muted. Arthur glanced down at his feet and around. He saw Gwaine and Perceval taking possession of a nearby round table, leaning against it. He saw Merlin not looking the least bit surprised, surreptitiously studying something on the walls. He also saw a tightening around Freya's mouth, something akin to embarrassment, and she hurried to the table, leaving Arthur and Merlin on the lower dais.

"Bryn. _Bryn_!" Freya tugged at the girl in Bryn's arms. An amused Bryn let the girl go, but the girl wasn't going easily; she wasn't going to abandon her prize catch. Arthur wasn't so sure that Bryn qualified as a prize of any kind, not with the M-pattern baldness and puffy chest, but he supposed anyone who laid claim to owning the club qualified. Freya glared at Bryn and said, "Merlin's here. Merlin and his Arthur."

Bryn tilted his head to the side to look past Freya. Merlin raised an awkward hand and waved. "Hi, Bryn."

Bryn raised a few fingers in acknowledgement before turning to continue his conversation with the men beside him. It was a dominance move -- something to show that he was in charge, not Freya, Merlin, and definitely not Arthur. If Arthur needed any indication that Bryn was feeling insecure as the owner of an upper class club when he wasn't upper class himself, this was it. That he was snubbing Arthur was a hint that he wasn't comfortable with someone with Arthur's reputation.

Arthur's eyes narrowed. He'd read Bryn's psychological profile and he could see it for himself. Bryn was a man who liked to be in control but didn't have all the tools -- none beyond the blunt and coarse -- necessary to maintain that control, and he did it by excluding those who might challenge his position. All the reports he'd read, including what Merlin had told him about Bryn, had underscored how he had Freya under his control and guarded her as jealously as Arthur was supposed to be where Merlin was concerned.

Bryn might not have the tools, but Arthur did. He touched Freya lightly on the arm, putting on his best apologetic smile when he startled her.

"I should thank you for inviting us," Arthur said, putting enough sincerity in his voice without coming right out and saying _thank you_. His reward was Freya's light blush and the way she turned away from the girl clinging to Bryn's arm. The poor girl didn't get the attention she deserved. "I take it that this is _your_ club, then?"

"Oh, no," Freya said, the flush on her cheeks deepening. She made a few frantic gestures in the air at something or someone behind her, but Arthur didn't look at where she was pointing, keeping his eyes on her. "No, I. Um. This was all Bryn's idea."

"Surely not," Arthur said. "A place like this needs a woman's touch."

Freya wrung her hands together. "Well, I help out a little bit, and I've got a stake in the business --"

"That's what I thought. Not many people have the pull to put people's names on a list when there's already a line a kilometre long waiting to get in," Arthur said with a smile. "It was very kind of you to invite us."

Freya smiled, but seemed to be at a loss for words.

Arthur glanced toward Bryn, who was staring at him with dark eyes, and the conversation around the table seemed to have died. "Well, obviously your friend is busy, and I'm not going to waste any more of my time waiting for him when you're here to show me around."

"Oh, I'd like to, but --" Freya looked at Bryn.

"No time like the present. Shall we?" Arthur asked.

"Freya," Bryn said, his voice low and deep and warning in a way that Arthur had used on Merlin a few times already. He turned to the other people at the table. "You lot fuck off. You too."

He pushed the woman from his arm until she slid off the bench. One of the other girls picked her up and dragged her off, glaring at Freya.

It was with a magnanimous gesture that Bryn invited them to the booth -- a gesture meant to indicate that he was the one in control again. Arthur let him have it. It was such a little thing. "Why don't you have a seat? Make yourselves comfortable."

Arthur gestured for Merlin to get in first and slid in after him. A waitress came by and cleared off the table, but Bryn sent her away before she could get their drink orders with an impatient, _let's get this over with_ flick of his hand.

"So you're Arthur Pendragon," Bryn said.

Arthur nodded. "And you're..."

He trailed off, raising an expectant eyebrow. Bryn pursed his lips as if slapped.

"Bryn. Bryn Nash," Merlin said, his leg brushing against Arthur's thigh. "I told you about him, yeah? Owns a bunch of clubs around town?"

"Clubs. Right."

"Like this one?" Merlin said, and Arthur knew what Merlin was doing. He was trying to find the common ground between the two of them. Arthur raised a brow in a _so what_ expression, completely and utterly unimpressed.

"It's just another club, _Mer_ lin," Arthur said.

"So, Merlin," Bryn interrupted, and Arthur saw in Bryn's body language a clear sign of inadequacy. "I hear you've been busy."

Merlin's eyes rounded, and he glanced from Arthur to Bryn. "Um. Yeah, yeah, I've had a lot to do. Arthur's been keeping me busy with --"

"Merlin," Arthur said in warning, squeezing his thigh when it looked as if Merlin was about to run off at the mouth. He left his hand on Merlin's leg, and Merlin shushed.

"What about the work we've been sending you?"

Merlin started to answer, but Arthur's fingers tightened. Arthur didn't miss how Bryn's gaze went to Arthur's hand, how his expression changed from uncertainty and forced brash confidence to speculation and thoughtful evaluation.

Arthur didn't need Merlin to find common ground between Arthur and Bryn. Bryn was figuring it out for himself.

"Merlin has more important things to do than waste time on a bit of code for that little quilting circle of yours," Arthur said flatly.

Bryn's eyes narrowed and shot to Merlin. His tone was menacing. "You told him?"

Arthur had seen Merlin's deer-in-the-headlights look many, many times, usually directed at Arthur when Arthur called him on something he shouldn't have done, but in every case, there had been _sheepishness_ and apology and trust, because whatever Merlin had done that Arthur had to discipline in one way or another as his Captain, Merlin knew that it would be fair. There was none of that now, directed as it was toward Bryn, and Arthur saw in Merlin's eyes the residual fear of someone who'd been hurt, who'd been bullied, who'd been terrorized.

It didn't matter that Merlin was a trained SAS soldier, that he could hold his own against the enemy in armed or unarmed combat, that he was in better shape than this Bryn could ever be, even with the jailhouse muscle that made him top heavy. It didn't matter that Merlin was _magic_. There were scars, and that fear was real.

And Bryn saw it. He was enjoying it.

"Merlin," Arthur said, patting his thigh. "Why don't you and Freya get us a round of drinks?"

Merlin's eyes tore away from Bryn and softened on Arthur, a small, sweet smile on his lips. "Yeah? Can I get --"

"Yes, Merlin. Get yourself whatever you want." Arthur met Bryn's gaze steadily. "It's on the house, isn't it?"

"Come on, Merlin," Freya said, picking up on the growing tension. She slid out of the booth without waiting for Bryn to tell her to go -- something that Arthur noted only added to Bryn's aggravation.

Arthur blocked Merlin's way and he wasn't getting up out of the booth; Merlin opted for crawling over Arthur's lap. There was a brief moment of distraction -- the fleeting sensation of Merlin's warm weight on him, the feel of Merlin's hand on Arthur's ribs, touching the tattoo through the clothing -- and Merlin was gone, arm in arm with Freya, Gwaine following after them.

 _Fuck_ , but that was maddening and distracting.

Arthur waited a moment -- he needed that moment to get his thoughts in order after Merlin's little shimmy out of the booth. He made a slight gesture around them. "The sound cancellers you've got in place. Interesting technology. Silences all the noise from outside, and no one can hear in, yeah?"

Bryn didn't answer.

"I'm assuming that in the future, you'll be recording a great many conversations in this booth that you can use for incriminating purposes later," Arthur said. When Bryn didn't react, Arthur clarified, "To blackmail people, yeah?"

Bryn shifted uncomfortably.

"And since this is your booth -- your personal booth, I take it," Arthur said, smoothing his hand along the edge of the bench, as if admiring the workmanship of the custom design. "You probably have some controlling device somewhere convenient. I suggest you turn the sound and video pickup off right now, because my understanding is that your little group operates best when no one knows anything about it."

Bryn stared at him steadily; Arthur stared back. It was a little bit like a game of chicken, where one of the idiots blinked first -- and it wasn't Arthur. Bryn reached next to him, using his body to shield what he was doing, and flipped open the cover to the controls. He pushed a button.

"Good man," Arthur said. He looked from Bryn to the dance floor, easily spotting Merlin and Gwaine in the crowd. The bar was swamped and they weren't in any hurry to get served, which meant Arthur had plenty of time to get his point across. "Now, don't blame Merlin. You're the one who told him, and you should've known better. You knew him before, yeah?"

"In school," Bryn said, slowly. Arthur caught Bryn's eyes narrowing in a quick glance in his direction before continuing to watch Merlin.

"He likes to talk," Arthur said, letting that declaration hang. "Sometimes you can't shut him up, and it's best not to try, because then you don't _learn_ things. You can remind him over and over to watch what he says, that some things aren't for sharing, but it just doesn't stick in his head, you know? With Merlin, you need to take a firmer hand. You understand that, yeah?"

Bryn's eyes half-hooded as Arthur's words sank in. His lips curled into a small, nasty smile. He glanced over to where Freya was with Merlin, the two of them chatting animatedly at the bar.

"Every once in a while you have to take them off the leash. Let them sniff around, maybe knock over a couple of things and make a few mistakes, but that's all right, because they need the discipline, and it's so much easier when there's something to discipline _for_. Kind of like you and your girl." Arthur's gaze drifted to study Freya, to take in her body language, her big smile, her sparkling eyes as she talked to Merlin. He didn't miss how other people were watching her -- her and Merlin -- at the bar. "Such a pretty thing. I'm surprised you give her as much freedom as you do, but then again, you've had her for a while, yeah? Had more time to train her to respond to your cues. Too bad that training isn't sticking."

Bryn shifted uncomfortably, and Arthur hoped he wasn't dooming Freya to harm and injury.

Arthur paused. He made a slight gesture with his hand. "You should be thanking me. If it were up to Merlin, he'd be going up and down London telling everyone who's willing to listen about this plot you've got brewing up. He might've caught the ear of some copper or two, and maybe you'd get lucky and the coppers wouldn't be too bright. They'd ignore him for a nutter. Or maybe they wouldn't, and they'd record everything he said and pass it along the chain, and what sort of pickle would you be in, honestly, when the agencies hear about this little organization keen on restoring things to the way they should be, with us in control, yeah?"

Arthur used _us_ on purpose, but if Bryn picked up on it, he didn't let it show.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Bryn said, too quickly.

Arthur snorted. "Don't be an idiot."

They stared at each other for a moment, and Bryn forced a small smile. "Who have you told?"

Arthur smiled. "What's important here is that I'm making certain that Merlin doesn't tell anyone _else_. Unlike him, I can see the value in what your little group is trying to do. I get the feeling that you're playing a long game, but that long game is coming to an end. You just need a few key pieces."

Bryn grimaced, as if he'd hoped that Merlin hadn't worked that out for himself, or that Arthur wouldn't have. Either way, Arthur pressed on.

"I've been looking for someone like him for ages. There's hackers, and then there's crackers, and then there's Merlin. There's no one better. Military hardware. Encryption keys. The entire infrastructure of the European Union. He's what I need. But he's what you need, too. Merlin is one of your key pieces.

"It's not hard to figure out," Arthur said, smirking at Bryn's blink. "Merlin tells me everything. I've watched him have a go at the code you're sending him. I've listened to him bitch and moan that there's not much that he can really do with it because you're sending him fragments of this or that, and it's taking him more time than it should because he doesn't have the information he needs from the code to set it up for a proper crack."

Bryn frowned, trying to catch up. Arthur gave him the time.

"He's so damn smart, it's scary. You could put the world in his lap. He'd take it apart and put it back together exactly the way you want it if you give him half the chance. I can't blame you for wanting him. He's a bit of a loose cannon, though. Needs a firm hand. He works so much better when he has someone making sure he focuses on what's important. Like keeping his mouth shut."

Arthur paused. There was a subtle change in Bryn's body language, something like relief as he finally understood that Arthur was making certain that the NWO's existence was being kept secret, at least for now. That Arthur understood the importance of what they were doing.

He changed tactics abruptly, cutting Bryn at the knees before he could build up too much hope of getting between Arthur and Merlin.

"Merlin doesn't get the job done when he's complaining. I don't like him complaining. When I give him work to do, I give him everything that he needs. It could be a new computer system. It could be a quiet spot where he can concentrate on creating the software he's going to be using. It could be time on the University computers that they use to build new drugs for medicine or to do the calculations needed to create the next element on the periodic table. It could be the hardware that the programming is running on. Whatever it is that he needs, I get it for him.

"But you? You send him twenty lines of code piecemeal. Not even piecemeal, since it's not from the same programming source. A thirteen year old building his own black box wouldn't waste their time on it even if they knew it would get them cold hard cash in the end, because they'll get a hell of a lot more money twigging a bank's software to deposit a fraction of a cent into an offshore account every time someone makes a transaction.

"You're wasting his time." Arthur paused, and continued, "I wouldn't be a good businessman if I let that go, yeah? Merlin is _mine_ , Mister Nash. You're using up one of my valuable resources. I've told him to stop doing your little projects. Makes no sense for him to be doing them for free, while not get anything out of it until he's passed your little tests and lasted through a probation period like he was still in training."

Bryn's expression darkened, his cheeks reddening. "You what?"

"You didn't make him sign a contract. Your verbal agreement won't hold up in court because you're not going to be able to describe your business plan without hanging yourself. Merlin is under no obligation to do anything that you tell him to do."

"You have to business interfering," Bryn said hotly, leaning forward. "We've been waiting --"

Arthur sighed heavily, waving Bryn's protest aside like it was the irritating buzzing of a bug. "I've gotten a lot of offers for Merlin, did you know that? It's the courteous thing. A business thing. If someone has something you want, then you make an offer, yeah? Try to buy them out, or arrange a loan. Come to some sort of mutual agreement. Sometimes you don't see eye to eye and have to shout it out a bit over a table. Sometimes… Sometimes you have to take drastic measures to prevent hostile takeovers."

Arthur paused and saw that Bryn got the message, however thinly veiled behind innuendo.

"Do you know what I find strange? All this time that I've had Merlin with me. I never got an offer from your lot."

Bryn shifted in his seat. "You want money?"

"Do I look like I need money?" Arthur asked.

Bryn leaned back in his seat, inhaling and exhaling like a bull, only without the cartoon huffs of breath coming out of his nostrils. He crossed his legs at the knee, put his hands in his lap, and the tattoo on his throat seemed to grow longer and straighter as he frowned and scowled and considered. "We could just take him."

"You could try," Arthur corrected. "You'd fail."

"Are you sure about that?" Bryn challenged.

"Consider this, Mister Nash," Arthur said. "You know who I am. The minute you found out Merlin was with me, you started asking questions, looking into my background. Surely you can see the benefit of having a man of my talents and resources on your side."

Bryn's eyes narrowed into thin, thin slits, weighing and evaluating. Arthur wondered if he was pushing it too far, but in his cover as Arthur-the-spoilt-prat, there was no reason not to push as hard as he could.

Arthur broke eye contact then, letting Bryn win this staredown only because he wasn't losing anything, and sought out Merlin in the crowd. He was still at the bar with Freya, Gwaine lingering nearby, and it didn't look as if either of them had given the bartenders the drink orders just yet, or had put in those orders and were waiting for them. Merlin was leaning back against the slick black bar, his elbows on the edge, his hips jutted out, one knee up, legs parted just a little in a come-hither pose of absolute, maddening invitation, and some wanker was taking him up on it.

Arthur couldn't see the man's face, but he was shorter than Merlin, of broad _spends-three-hours-at-the-gym-each-day_ shoulders and tapered waist under tight blue jeans and a navy blue shirt, the sleeves rolled up and shiny gold bracelets flashing in the strobe lights. Freya was staring between Merlin and the other man with an expression of foolhardy disbelief, an encouraging, even goading grin on her face. Merlin -- _his_ Merlin -- was reaching out to touch the other man's shoulder, brushing an imaginary piece of lint from his shirt, and the man leaned closer.

_Goddamn it, why isn't Gwaine stopping that plonker?_

"What do you want?"

"What do you think I want?" Arthur asked, using the smugness in his tone to mask the flare of possessive jealousy that had nothing to do with his cover. He tore his eyes from the spectacle of Merlin's flirtations with a complete stranger and turned back to Bryn.

He knew what Bryn was thinking. He was remembering everything he'd heard about Arthur. And Arthur knew what the Directory and MI-5 had distributed over the wire, had heard all the rumours and gossip that had spread since he'd walked onto the scene in Algiers.

He didn't get along with his father. Their public blowouts -- both of them very real and very public and very much gossiped about, preceding this whole thing with the NWO -- were on record. Their private disagreements could only be speculated at, because Uther Pendragon had often been overheard muttering how he would cut Arthur off if he embarrassed him like that again.

As far as the rumours where Uther was concerned, Arthur was a pawn, a token chess piece with no power whatsoever, a name to put at the head of the company when Uther retired while a board of directors took Uther's orders from the golf course. Arthur had no control, no future prospects, no foothold in something that should by rights belong to him. He was the problem child that Uther disapproved of, because he had his own mind and his own interests and his own goals, and they contradicted Uther's plans.

If Arthur were honest with himself, the truth wasn't much different. His longer-than-originally-intended tour in the British Armed Forces had been his escape from Uther's suffocating, weighty demands, and now he had a legitimate reason to act out the part of the petulant only son, getting his frustrations out in the open once and for all.

"Let me make a phone call," Bryn said, his tone calm, as if he'd already made a decision and was only waiting for approval from on-high.

Arthur could only hope that it was the decision he wanted him to make. He nodded dully, bored, and turned his attention back to where that _bloody wanker_ was leaning in to Merlin, whispering in his ear.

"You do that," Arthur said, getting up. "I'll go see what's taking our girls so long."

 

ooOOoo

 

"Are you sure you're all right?" Freya asked, twining her arm through Merlin's as they walked away from the booth. Merlin scowled at her.

"I'm fine. A million times fine," Merlin said. He raised a brow at Freya, suppressing the urge to glance over his shoulder to see how Arthur was doing. The last thing he wanted to do was leave Arthur alone with Bryn. He knew what Bryn had been like as a kid, and going by his last meeting with him at the Lockdown and the psych profile the Directory had worked up on him, Bryn hadn't changed one bit. If anything, he'd gotten worse.

But Perceval was near, and the binding that had tied metaphysical strings in peace knot had been easy to undo. None of them were unarmed, if Bryn should decide to try something.

Bryn would be monumentally stupid (although that wasn't beyond the realm of possibility) to do anything in a full club with plenty of witnesses. Merlin could only hope that Bryn wouldn't take that chance.

"You know, I should be asking you that question," Merlin said. He tilted his head back but didn't take his eyes from Freya. "What kind of bloody wanker is he, I thought you two were together --"

"We _are_ \--"

"Then what's he doing with some skank in his lap, looking as if she's about to snorkel dive into his pants? I've got a mind to talk to him --"

"Leave it alone, Merlin," Freya said, her voice a plead. "He explained it to me before. He's the club owner, they expect certain things from him, and it's just for show, you know --"

"Show? For _show_?" Merlin shook his head. "If he really cared about you, he wouldn't treat you like this --"

"You're one to talk -- if _Arthur_ really cared about you, he wouldn't hit you --"

"He _didn't_ hit me, Freya! How many times do I have to tell you --"

"And what were that back there? Did you ask him for _permission_ to get yourself a drink? Since when do you need permission to do anything? What happened to _you_?"

"I'm a bloody lightweight when it comes to drink," Merlin said, rolling his eyes. "He hates it when I get sick. _I_ hate it when I get sick. But I can't tell when I'm about to have something that'll knock me over the legal and leave me taking a header into the loo. Arthur keeps track. He always has. He _takes care of me_."

Freya's eyes went right to the black eye that wasn't so much black anymore as it was a pale sickly shade of green, visible against his skin even with the flickering club lights. "Yeah, I see how he takes care of you," Freya said.

"For fuck's sake, Freya," Merlin said, stopping shy of the bar. "Arthur didn't hit me."

"Right."

"I walked into a wall or a pole or I fell down the fucking stairs, all right? I'm clumsy, always were. But Arthur. Did. Not. Hit. Me."

Freya studied him. She always could tell when Merlin was lying -- hell, the whole bloody _universe_ could probably tell when Merlin was lying if he wasn't careful, and he _obviously_ was lying about how he got the black eye in the first place. At the same time, she looked confused, because Merlin wasn't lying when he said that Arthur hadn't been behind it.

He could understand why Freya would automatically assume that _Arthur_ had hit him instead of some other random person like, oh, Bohrs. But it was an assumption, and one that Freya wasn't letting go.

"Besides, it's not like Bryn is much better," Merlin muttered under his breath, realizing too late that he'd more or less implied that, _yes, Arthur did hit me, I'm lying to protect him_ , and he sighed inwardly when Freya narrowed her eyes. He elbowed her, and said, "Well, he's not, is he? He's not exactly Citizen of the Year."

"He loves me," Freya said.

"And you? Do you love him?"

"You know I do."

"Can't say the words, can you?" Merlin scowled, shaking his head. "Okay, look, I'll buy that you love him, but if you bump into a rat's nest of bastards, he's usually the one in the middle --"

"He's sweet to me, Merlin. You don't know what he's like when no one else is around --"

 _Worse, isn't he?_ Merlin didn't say out loud, biting his lower lip.

"-- he's dead nice. He pays attention to me, he showers me with presents, and, oh, Merlin, you don't know what it's like, being like me --"

"Like you?" Merlin said, raising a brow. He guided her to the bar where a space opened up, leaning an elbow on the edge, in no hurry to wave the bartender over to put in an order for drinks. He leaned in close so that Freya could hear him without his having to shout himself hoarse, and still keep quiet what she didn't want anyone else to know. "Freya, you're bloody brilliant. You're smart, you're gorgeous, and you have no idea how many blokes have been staring at you since we came over to the bar --"

Freya swatted his arm. "You know that's not what I mean."

"Oh, that other thing," Merlin said, nodding grimly. "Yeah, I can see how that could be a problem, but I taught you a few tricks, yeah? The meditation and the crystals to keep you calm? Everything that I've read say that they should help, but it's going to take time and practice --"

"How much time? How much practice? Have you any idea how long I _tried_ , Merlin? At least Bryn's helped me out with it more than you have --"

Freya trailed off, glancing over her shoulder when someone bumped her. Merlin frowned. "How has he been helping you?"

She tilted her head and didn't answer him, not right away. She twisted her body around, raising a shoulder in a half-hearted shrug. "He gives me an outlet. _Controlled conditions_ , he says. As long as he can shunt the excess energy while I'm... while I'm transformed, I don't feel the urge come over me like it used to. I don't go out at every night anymore, Merlin. It's only sometimes. I'm not hurting people. I'm not."

Maybe Freya could tell when Merlin was lying, but the reverse was also true. He could see it in her eyes, the way she wouldn't look at him, how her body was angled away , the way she _insisted_. Merlin wanted to know what it was that Bryn was doing to Freya, what Freya was doing. He wanted to steal her away somewhere safe where he could take her to Gaius and other people who really could help Freya like she deserved to be helped -- legitimate, useful help, and not this half-cocked bollocks that Bryn must have told Freya just to keep her under his control.

Instead, Merlin sighed, rolled his eyes, and shook his head. "Well, at least Bryn is good for one thing."

_If that thing was being an absolute fucking bastard._

Freya missed the concern in his eyes and her eyes sparkled. "More than one thing, actually," she said, grinning in a way that Merlin never wanted to see on her again, because she had been like his little sister, once upon a time.

"I didn't need to hear that," Merlin glared.

"Oh no? This coming from you? Wriggled your way out of the booth by crawling over Arthur? What the hell were that, then?"

Merlin's cheeks reddened and he shrugged his shoulders. He'd done it on purpose -- half because there had been no other way of getting out of the booth short of climbing over the table, and the table didn't look like it could hold his weight even if he were inclined to do a little dance on top of it. There had been very little leg space between Arthur's stretched legs and the table, anyway, and besides, it had been _fun_ to do.

There was no denying the shiver that ran through him when he'd felt Arthur's fingers slip under his shirt to help him crawl over, or the way his hand curled over his arse when Merlin climbed off.

"What do you think it were?" Merlin asked. "It's the first time we've been out to the clubs in ages."

Freya smirked.

The bartender was a skinny-smooth man a lot shorter than Merlin and nearly a full decade younger, if Merlin's guess was anywhere near right. He knocked a knuckle on the bartop, the wrist-to-elbow chain of bright multicoloured beads rattling as loud as the drumbeat blasting through the speakers. "Yeah? You two want something?"

"The usual for me and Bryn," Freya shouted.

"Sure thing, boss. What about you?" He looked at Merlin up and down and grinned.

"Glenfiddich, no ice, and whatever decent rum you've got behind the bar," Merlin said.

The bartender glanced at Freya, who nodded. "Yeah, he's a friend, break out the good stuff."

"Yes'm. I'll have to go to the back for the whiskey, though. Give me a few."

Merlin turned around, elbows on the bar, tilting his head toward Freya. "Thanks."

"It's like your Arthur said. Our treat," Freya said with a grin.

Merlin looked up and over the crowd, watching the booth with Arthur and Bryn. They sat opposite each other like chess players over a complicated board, and Arthur was talking, his body calm and collected, while Bryn was getting so wound up, it seemed as if he might pop at any second. Merlin suddenly very dearly wished he could hear what Arthur was telling Bryn.

Perceval was leaning against a table near the booth, keeping an eye on things. Gwaine was a few feet away with what looked to be an empty glass in his hand -- Merlin had no idea how he'd gotten a drink, and didn't know if Gwaine had been drinking in the first place. For all Merlin knew, Gwaine was using it as a prop, because he wasn't moving from his spot and he'd look like a stalker if he didn't at least try to fit in. He was chatting up a pretty redhead with hair that was longer than the hemline of her skirt, apparently more interested in her cleavage than the conversation, but Merlin had the distinct impression that he was well and fully aware of everything going on.

"You're in love with him, aren't you?"

"Sorry, what?"

"With Arthur. You love him, don't you?"

Merlin smiled. "That obvious?"

"Only to people with eyes, Merlin," Freya said, watching him. Her amusement faded, because she leaned in and said, "I can't believe you told him."

Merlin glanced at her. "What was I supposed to do then, when he saw me working on that shite code I've been getting?"

"Lie," Freya snapped. "I told you this were important, to keep secret --"

"Oi, and in the next breath, Bryn's telling me to spread the word around, to try and recruit people --" Merlin sighed. "Look, Freya, I trust Arthur, or I wouldn't have told him anything, I promise. And he's not telling anyone either. He thinks it's interesting --"

" _Interesting?_ Is that what he said?"

"That's what he said, and he weren't being sarcastic either, because Arthur doesn't _do_ sarcastic. If he says he's interested, he's interested, full stop. I don't see what the problem is --"

"He's not supposed to know what you're working on!"

"Freya! He knows the colour of my briefs -- point in fact, he knows I'm not wearing _any_ right now --"

"You aren't?"

The new voice joining the conversation belonged to a bloke who was a wannabe Gwaine clone, except for the fact that Gwaine had far better hair, looked sexy with stubble, and had a gorgeous smile. This bloke couldn't smile without glancing down at Merlin's pants, was obsessed with flashing the bling around his wrist and neck, and had so much hair sprouting out of the open V of his button-down that he might be attempting to grow his own teddy bear.

"Do you mind, I'm having a private conversation here," Merlin said, gesturing toward Freya, who was trying her best not to giggle. Merlin lazily pointed up to his face without moving his elbow from the edge of the bar. "Also, the eyes? They're up here."

"Not much of a private conversation when you're at the bar and shouting it out so loud that everyone can hear you," the man said. "I'm Glenn. What's your name?"

"Merlin."

"Why are you alone?"

Merlin scoffed, glancing at Freya. "'M not! My bloke's over there," Merlin said, pointing in the general direction of the booths without indicating which one.

"Not much of a bloke, is he, if he lets you wander around without briefs on," Glenn said, edging between Merlin and the person leaning against the bar on Merlin's other side. "I wouldn't let you out of my sight if I were him --"

"Bloody possessive bastard you are. A man's got to breathe." Merlin said. He looked at Freya. "A girl, too."

"No offence, but I'm not much for the birds," Glenn said. He tilted his head. "You know, there's a bathroom over in the corner that hardly anyone ever goes to."

"Is that right?" Merlin asked. He hitched his hips a bit, and Glenn's eyes went right to his crotch again.

Freya's mouth dropped, and she leaned in to say, "You're so bad, Merlin! What are you doing?"

"That bathroom's down over there somewhere?" Merlin asked, pointing. While his arm was raised, he picked a piece of fluff from the man's shirt, holding it up. "Really should run a roller brush before you leave the house. You have a cat or something?"

Glenn leaned in. "A dog."

"One of those little Maltese cotton balls?"

"An Alsatian, actually," Glenn said, raising a suggestive eyebrow. "Very friendly. Likes to lick things."

"Ew, that's like animal abuse," Freya said, her face scrunched up.

Glenn ignored her and came so close that Merlin could smell the rye and coke on his breath. "You know how dogs resemble their owners."

Merlin's eyes went down to Glenn's hairy chest and bit his lower lip in an attempt not to laugh, but that only resulted in Glenn looking down and licking his own lips. "I dunno, I'd have to meet your dog to see if it's true."

"Let's test the theory, then. Come over to mine," Glenn said.

"Merlin!" Freya blurted out, eyes wide. She twined her hand through Merlin's arm to keep him from going anywhere.

Merlin glanced at her and back at Glenn. "I told you, I've got a bloke."

Glenn scowled. "Can I buy you a drink, then?"

"I've got drinks coming," Merlin said. He turned to look at Freya and shook his head, giving her his best _do you believe this pillock?_ look.

Glenn reached over and daringly hooked his fingers over Merlin's waistband, tugging. Merlin was so surprised, all he could do was whip his head around to stare at him. "At least let me see what you've got under there. Make sure you weren't lying about not having anything on."

"Bloody hell, you're ballsy, aren't you?" Merlin said. "I'm not interested, mate. I'm with someone. I'm seriously, completely, one-hundred-percent with someone."

He shifted his hip away from Glenn, but all that happened was his hand took a firmer grasp and tugged Merlin back.

"Hey!"

"You're just a bloody tease, aren't you?"

"You'll be wanting to let him go," Gwaine said, clasping a heavy hand on Glenn's shoulder.

"Is this your bloke?" Glenn asked.

"No, I'm not his bloke, and that's the only reason you still have your hand right now," Gwaine said, his tone amiable, his expression anything but. "So let him go, back off, and if you value seeing the sun rise in the morning, run far, far away as fast as you can."

Glenn snorted, sizing Gwaine up with the look of a man about to throw a punch, but he took his hand away all the same. "Why should I do that?"

"Because his bloke is coming over right now," Gwaine said, letting his hand drop from the man's shoulder, tilting his head back without taking his attention away from Glenn. He gestured at Merlin. "Move out of the way, Merlin."

Freya pulled him a couple of feet away, and without Glenn and Gwaine blocking the view, Merlin saw that Arthur was indeed coming closer, his expression carefully schooled behind an impassive mask, but there was no missing the storm in his eyes.

"Merlin," Arthur said, stopping in front of him. Perceval was trailing behind, glancing around.

"It's not what it looks like," Merlin said quickly, holding up his hands.

"How would you know what it looks like?" Arthur asked, his voice sharp.

"Because it always looks bad," Merlin said. He took a step closer, putting a hand on Arthur's arm. "Come on, Arthur. I told him I weren't interested, that I was with you."

"He did," Freya put in defensively.

"It's not my fault. He weren't listening. I tried to tell him, but it weren't going into his head. It's like that whole selective hearing I keep hearing about --"

"Merlin," Arthur said. Merlin raised both brows and made a soft _hm?_ sound that was drowned in the shrieking music. "Shut up."

Merlin nodded. Freya hugged his arm closer.

Arthur turned to Glenn. "Make a habit of hitting on other pepole's men at clubs?"

"It's why there's clubs, mate," Glenn said, grinning. He eyed Arthur up and down in the same way he'd took Gwaine's measure, but he hadn't noticed Perceval yet. "No harm done, yeah? Your boy's a big bloody flirt."

A muscle in Arthur's jaw clenched. Merlin tried not to notice how _hot_ Arthur was when he was being possessive.

"You should keep him on a shorter leash. Some of the things he said -- did you know he propositioned me? Wanted to come to mine, see my dog, and I'm not talking about Fido. How was I supposed to know --"

"Oi! I never --"

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, and several people looked over. After a few moments, the crowd nearby picked up on the _mind your own business_ vibes and resumed partying. Arthur stared back at Glenn. "Here's some friendly advice. If the bloke doesn't belong to you, keep your hands to yourself."

Glenn half-laughed, half-scoffed, taking a cocky step forward, faltering a little when Arthur not only didn't back off, but when he caught the glimpse of the gun tucked in Gwaine's shoulder holster, hidden by his sports jacket until now, he backed away as if he'd just stepped in his own grave.

"Piss off," Arthur said. He didn't wait to see Glenn move away from the bar on tip-toe, as if any movement, noise, or look might affect Gwaine's trigger finger. He turned around and glared at Merlin, hands on his hips, lips pressed together in displeasure.

"Can I talk now?" Merlin asked.

"Do I want to hear what you're going to say?" Arthur asked.

"Don't blame Merlin, it wasn't his fault. Glenn couldn't take a hint if it was spray-painted on the side of the lorry that ran him over," Freya said.

Arthur glanced between Merlin and Freya and back. "Glenn, is it? Sounds like you got on real chummy, yeah? What would've happened if I hadn't come over right then?"

"He said something about the bathroom and wanting to see if I were wearing briefs," Merlin muttered under his breath, lowering his eyes. Freya's hand squeezed his arm warningly.

"Don't say that," Freya whispered. She vibrated with alarm and worry.

"I didn't hear what you said." Arthur took a step closer.

"He mentioned the bathroom and wanting to get into my pants," Merlin said, looking up in time to see the heat in Arthur's eyes, to see the way his arm whipped out. He flinched at the rough when Arthur grabbed him, hand behind Merlin's neck. He was yanked closer, pulled out of Freya's grasp, hitting chest-to-chest with Arthur.

Arthur's breath was searing against his ear. "No one, _Mer_ lin. No one but me, you understand me?"

Merlin tried to nod, but Arthur was holding him too tightly. "Yeah, yeah, I understand --"

Before Merlin knew what was happening, Arthur had manhandled him, twisting him around until he was shoving Merlin ahead of him, hand on his neck. Merlin thought they were leaving and was about to slow down, to stop, to argue more, anything to protest that they shouldn't leave now, because that would be rude, _because they had a mission to do and that was to establish common ground with Bryn, to get the NWO even more interested in Merlin if not in Arthur as well_ \--

Then he realized where Arthur was taking him.

The bathrooms.

Merlin's stomach fluttered and he'd never gotten so painfully, awkwardly hard so fast in his entire life. He tried to palm himself, to adjust his cock in his jeans without being obvious about it, but Arthur grabbed his arm and pushed him forward.

"The other one," he said quickly.

"What?"

"The other one. The bloke at the bar, he said the other one's always mostly empty."

There was a small, strangled sound from Arthur, but Merlin couldn't turn his head to look at him. They changed directions abruptly, heading toward the corridor at the end of the bar, moving past the people milling on the steps. Just beyond that, the area was clear except for red lights casting the hallway in a menacing glow.

The Men's was at the very end.

"Perce."

Perceval didn't wait for further instructions; he walked past them and went into the bathroom. The dull blue fluorescent light fought for dominance in the hallway before the door shut behind him. He was only gone thirty seconds, two people scrambled out still buttoning up their pants, but it was still an eternity before he finally came out.

"It's clear," Perceval said, glancing between the two of them. "No cameras."

Perceval didn't try to hide his smirk.

Arthur didn't answer Perceval, but he must have nodded or made another sort of gesture, because Perceval got out of their way and Arthur shoved Merlin into the bathroom.

The contrasting colour of the bright inside the Men's was made all the worse by the glossy black paint on the private bathroom stalls and the shiny ivory of everything else. The door swung shut behind them and there was blessed silence, the roar of pounding music and energetic dancing and shouted conversation coming to a muted hum, drowned out by Arthur's heavy breath against his ear. Merlin was guided to the slick counter and shoved against it.

The hard presence of the sink against Merlin's thighs, just below his crotch, was a welcome distraction to the strain of his erection trying to tear through his jeans. Arthur let go of Merlin's neck to wrap his arm over his chest, his hand cupping Merlin's chin, forcing him to look up into the mirror.

Arthur's eyes were nearly black in this light, his lips swollen red and parted. He seemed frozen in time, struggling with himself.

"No one but me, _Mer_ lin," Arthur finally said, his voice deep and rough, his lips teasing Merlin's ear.

Merlin could have come right there, just from the sound of Arthur's voice, from the way Arthur rumbled his name. He didn't realize the needy moan was coming from him until Arthur turned his head, and shut him up with a heady kiss. 

Arthur ground against him, hard cock against Merlin's arse, his free hand reaching to rub at Merlin's erection through the front of his jeans.

_" _Fuck, Arthur,_ " Merlin groaned, leaning against him, but Arthur pushed him back._

"You did this on purpose," Arthur whispered, staring at him in the mirror. His hair was tousled, his lips were bruised, and everything about him was rough and hard and hungry with desire. "So fucking sexy. Teasing me through dinner. That thing with the dessert. Crawling over my lap in the booth. _Flirting_ with that bloke. Couldn't take my eyes off you all night.

"You did this on purpose. Didn't you?"

 

ooOOoo

 

The flare of jealousy that ripped through Arthur when the man dug his fingers into Merlin's pants and tugged him close had nothing to do with his cover. Anger gave him tunnel vision when Merlin's expression slipped into offended shock and did him no good at all when Merlin tried to get away from Octopus Hands. The only thing that saved "Glenn" from being on the receiving end of something painful was the fact that Gwaine was in the way.

There had been a fraction of a second in all that when logical thought prevailed, and that logic came in the form of the memory of Leon laughing at him and saying, _Never mind Merlin. He can take care of himself. Now we have to work on you._.

Arthur had never had a weakness before. Or maybe he always had this particular weakness, but it had never had a reason to rise to the fore until Merlin came along. Arthur would go to the ends of the earth for his men, to make sure they were safe and taken care of, even to put himself in the line of fire before he'd send anyone else in first, but when it came to Merlin, all the rules, even the ones for self-preservation and common sense, went flying out the window. The mission? Sod it. Infiltrate the NWO? The who? What about the Directory? Couldn't give a flying fuck.

At the moment, the only thing that Arthur could think about was the way Merlin felt against him, solid and pliable at the same time. The way that Merlin was looking at him in the mirror, eyes dark with the swell of desire and want and need, framed in such complete trust that Arthur could fall apart right then and there. The way that Merlin was, right now, his lips a deep, swollen red, bruised from the hard kiss Arthur had given him only moments before, his clothes in a messy disarray before he'd even touched them, his cock hard and bulging, straining through a pair of jeans that should be a registered weapon, wanting to be touched and stroked and stripped.

"I planned this," Merlin whispered with a soft gasp, and Arthur couldn't help himself. His lips trailed down from Merlin's ear to kiss at his throat, and he bit down at the fleshy part where the neck met shoulder, tasting leather and fabric instead of flesh.

Merlin moaned, and Arthur felt Merlin's legs collapse under him. He pressed Merlin harder against the counter and looked at him in the mirror through hooded eyes, wanting to memorize every aspect, every nuance, every flicker of Merlin coming apart in front of him.

Later, much later, when the blood in his body could be used to fuel something other than his cock, Arthur would reflect on how Merlin was bloody _brilliant_. It wasn't only because he was a tease who could cause Arthur's intelligence quotient to drop at least thirty points by fluttering the long, black eyelashes of bedroom eyes.

He'd had the feeling that he'd lost Bryn at the table, that he'd made one challenge too many. He'd seen how Bryn was intimidated by Arthur in a way that was nearly unrecoverable, with Bryn's inadequacies in business and this particular class in society only adding fuel to the fire. Arthur was everything that Bryn wasn't -- sharp, smart, in control.

There was no bridge between them. No way that Bryn would bring Arthur in. On the surface, Arthur embodied everything that Bryn and the NWO hated, and until _this_ , until Merlin had torn down the walls that Arthur was so accustomed to having around him, Arthur was just another bloke queuing up for the NWO's firing squad.

Now, Arthur was a bloke with a weakness that Bryn could understand. A need to be in control. _Having_ that control stripped away so easily by Merlin.

Bryn would be taking advantage of it. Using it to manipulate Arthur. To see how far he could be pushed. To find out what sort of things that he could make Arthur do before he broke.

But right now, Arthur couldn't think about Bryn. The mission. The NWO. He could only feel the radiating warmth of Merlin's solid body against his. The swell of Merlin's arse against his cock. The outline of Merlin's erection against his hand.

"Why?" Arthur asked, returning his lips to Merlin's ear, absorbing every minuscule tremor that he could see, from the soft gasp that parted Merlin's lips, the hitch of his hips, the white-knuckled grasp of Merlin's hands on Arthur's legs. "Why would you plan this? Tell me, Merlin. Tell me why."

Merlin was wordless, breathless, senseless, and when he answered, it was with a voice thick with lust. "I told you. My kink is you."

Arthur had a flashback of Merlin spread out on their bed -- and Arthur wondered exactly when he'd stopped thinking of things as merely _his_ and started thinking of them as _theirs_ \-- naked under the comforter, his hair tousled, his eyes sleep-heavy, smiling at him with that small knowing smile of his and teasing Arthur with exactly those same words.

Arthur muffled his groan by biting Merlin's throat again, sucking that same spot until he very nearly left a permanent mark.

Maybe Merlin wasn't as brilliant as Arthur thought, possessing a master spy's clairvoyance, always planning several moves ahead. Maybe he didn't stop to think to evaluate how their target would see them, to delve in the psychology behind someone's actions, past, present, and future, to figure out how they could be moulded and guided into doing exactly what he wanted and nothing more. Maybe it all came completely natural to him, this getting them into a situation that they needed to be in, good or bad.

Arthur didn't care.

"So bloody fucking sexy, Merlin," Arthur said again, dragging his lips up Merlin's throat, turning Merlin's chin so that he could claim him in another kiss. "You have no idea what you do to me."

"Show me," Merlin panted, his eyes half-closed in that seductive way that he had, heavy with desire, a bare sliver of jewel blue through thick lashes. He rolled his hips in a sensuous circle that left Arthur momentarily blind and robbed him of all sensation beyond what was roughly grating against his cock.

"Show me," Merlin breathed, sounding about as weak as he was making Arthur. "Make me feel it."

" _Fuck,_ " Arthur ground out, his hands dropping to Merlin's waist, fingers fumbling for the square buckle to the star-studded leather belt, muttering under his breath, because the act of removing someone's pants had suddenly become impossibly _complicated_. He glanced around, looking for the dispensers that were usually in club bathrooms for exactly this sort of thing, spitting out minty mouthwash and cheap cologne and condoms for a pound fifty. There were private loo stalls, towel dispensers, a forced-air drier, a stainless steel bin in the wall -- but nothing _useful_. "Merlin. I haven't anything --"

It didn't stop Arthur from going at Merlin's belt, to finally pull it loose, to tug at the button and the zipper, because even without condoms they could still get each other off --

"Inside my vest. Pocket," Merlin gasped, and Arthur's hands stilled.

He stared at Merlin in the mirror, at the wanton, dishevelled look of him, at his bare throat reddened in precise rounds the size of Arthur's mouth, at the shuttered eyes and the lips parted in a moan. Merlin lowered his chin, finding his gaze in their reflection, and there wasn't the least bit of shame to him that he'd _planned this all along_.

" _Fuck,_ ," Arthur said, half in disbelief, half in agreement with his clinical, detached assessment that he was well and truly _gone_ , that there wouldn't be anyone else for him after this. That there had only ever been Merlin.

It was Merlin who took the square package out of his vest and left it on the counter in easy reach. Merlin, who made a soft impatient sound. Merlin, who took Arthur's hand and slid it up and down his cock, reminding him of what he was neglecting.

Arthur pulled on Merlin's pants, pushing down his jeans, and there _were no bloody briefs_. The sight of Merlin's bare arse, abruptly revealed like that, did _things_ to Arthur, so much so that he rested his forehead on Merlin's shoulder and spent a few shaky breaths stroking off Merlin, not daring to touch himself because he might just come right then and there.

Arthur undid his own clothes in a hurry, pushing his pants down and pulling up his shirt. He fumbled for the condom, letting his cock rub against the crack of Merlin's arse before rolling it on.

"Lube," Arthur asked in a glimmer of clarity, but Merlin shook his head and said something garbled and incomprehensible that might have been _forget it_ or no need, but Arthur didn't have the mental capability at the moment to work it out, or even to think to ask Merlin what he'd said.

Instead, he pressed against Merlin again, turning his head, forcing another bruising kiss that Merlin returned in kind. He pushed two fingers into Merlin's mouth, and Merlin sucked on them, his tongue rolling around the knuckles, his cheeks hollowing out every time Arthur stroked his fingers in.

Merlin's cock in Arthur's hand. Arthur's fingers in Merlin's mouth.

It was a sight Arthur wished he could commit to film, to take out his camera phone and capture, but he was a little busy right now _trying not to come_. He pressed spit-slick fingers against the ring of muscle, intent on working Merlin open as quickly as possible so that Arthur wouldn't hurt him, but in that moment when first one finger, then the second, slipped inside with only the slightest of resistance, sliding in and out as if he'd been worked open for _hours_ , Arthur's mind caught up with everything --

Merlin had said _there's no need_.

Now, he understood why Merlin had given him a cheeky smile and chased him out of the bedroom so that he could get dressed before they went out. Arthur had finally caught on to the double-meaning when Merlin had said _let me get ready_ and winked at him when he'd shut the door.

" _Fuck, Merlin,_ " Arthur hissed, pulling his fingers out. He moved Merlin a step back from the counter, because he was not going to be gentle, because nothing that Merlin was doing right now hinted that he should be gentle. He pushed Merlin down, a hand on the small of his back. He took his cock, and guided himself in.

Merlin gripped the far end of the sink, his head hanging down, a breathy gasp drawn out of him until Arthur was seated all the way in. He stopped there, unable to go further, unwilling to move, because the feeling of Merlin around him was just that good.

Then Merlin raised his eyes to the mirror, completely and utterly shattered, as if to ask, _what the hell are you waiting for?_

Arthur didn't know.

The first few thrusts were short and shallow, matching Merlin's soft, needy noises. It was those same soft, needy noises that brought Arthur's hands to Merlin's hips, holding him tightly, drawing himself nearly all the way out before slamming in. He did it again, and again, the tempo increasing steadily until there was no other word for what he was doing other than _fucking_. He didn't know where to look -- at the way his cock was sliding up Merlin's arse, at Merlin's expression in the mirror, halfway between the dull ache of pleasure and pain as he was being shagged hard.

There was a moment where their eyes met in their reflections, a lazy, languid, _fucked_ look on Merlin's expression coupled with the heat of _wanting more_ that curled Arthur's fingers around Merlin's hips all the harder.

There would be bruises.

He would kiss every one. Later.

Merlin braced himself with one hand, the other reaching down to take his cock, stroking himself at a jagged rhythm that was out of synch with Arthur's thrusts. There was a gasp, a tiny shudder, a widening of the eyes as if he had crested too soon and too fast. Merlin came, his mouth dropping open in a moan that could probably be heard throughout the club, the shine of gold visible in his squeezed-shut eyes.

It was the tightening of Merlin around him that wrenched a climax out of Arthur before he was ready, because he could keep doing this, because he loved the feeling of Merlin like this, the look of him, the sounds he was drawing out. Everything.

Arthur leaned against Merlin, sheathed all the way in, panting for breath. A trickle of sweat ran down his back where it was sopped up by his shirt. He ran his hands up and down Merlin's sides, waiting for his breath to catch, his heart rate to slow down. Merlin had crooked an arm under him, using it as a pillow to rest his head. His other hand was still under him, his body slack, limp, drained of energy.

"All right, Merlin?" Arthur asked gently, still rubbing Merlin's back, sliding his hands under his shirt.

A soft, hoarse laugh answered him. "Yeah. You?"

Arthur met Merlin's gaze in the mirror. He couldn't help the small smirk tugging at his lips. He drew his hand down, rubbing Merlin's arse in warning before giving him a good smack, leaving a bright red mark behind. Merlin's entire body jerked, and the startled gasp was loud enough to shatter glass.

"God! " Merlin's body trembled.

"I see you finally recognized me for what I really am," Arthur said smugly.

"Hardly, you prat. What was that for?" Merlin looked over his shoulder at him.

Arthur tilted his head and half-shrugged. "That'll teach you to flirt with other people."

"I weren't flirting," Merlin protested. "I told you --"

Whatever else he'd been about to say vanished in another startled yelp when Arthur slapped Merlin's arse, this time on the other side. It wasn't quite a match, cheek to cheek, but it was close. When Merlin shot him a murderous glare, Arthur asked, "Are you going to do it again?"

"If this is my punishment, I should probably tell you that it's _hardly_ the negative reinforcement you were probably trying for." Arthur shifted his hips in slow, small strokes, and Merlin groaned. "I hate you."

"Really?" Arthur asked, looking down at his handiwork on Merlin's right arse cheek. He palmed and gave it a good squeeze.

"No."

"And about the flirting?"

"I won't do it again, I _swear_ ," Merlin said, adding, "Not that I did it _this_ time, but if it makes you happy to hear it --"

"It makes me happy to hear it," Arthur said with a smirk. He rubbed the finger marks on Merlin's hips. Between the low-rider jeans and the too-short shirt, they would show every time he moved.

He withdrew from Merlin, rubbing the small of Merlin's back at the slight grimace. He pulled off the condom, walked to one of the stalls, and dropped it in the bowl. He fastened his pants and flushed.

The Directory had an old, wizened houngan on staff who did very frightening things with body fluids, and after a demonstration that nearly had turned Bedivere into a zombie, Arthur had learned to take great pains in making certain that no one would get their hands on anything of his if he could absolutely help it.

"Clean up, Merlin," Arthur said, turning around to find Merlin tugging on his pants, adjusting himself carefully.

"Done," Merlin said. His eyes had been nearly as round as Arthur's at the houngan's demonstration, and probably only because he could imagine of a few more ways that body fluids and body parts could be used against someone.

Arthur came up behind him, wrapping his arms around Merlin's waist, planting a kiss on his throat. He'd watched Merlin clean up with magic before -- and that was a trick more than one person on the team complained that they wished they'd known about back in the barracks. "You cheated, didn't you?"

"It's not cheating if no one sees you," Merlin said, tying his belt.

"You've been hanging around Gwaine too much," Arthur said. Merlin turned around in his arms, smirking.

"You going to punish me for that?"

"Multiple times," Arthur said firmly, keeping his expression deadpan. "All of them tonight."

Merlin leaned in and stole a quick, sweet kiss. "We should get back."

"Yeah." Arthur let Merlin go and did his best to straighten himself up, but no matter what he did to help Merlin, Merlin still looked completely and utterly shagged. He swatted Merlin's hands away and said, "No. Leave it."

He passed a hand through Merlin's hair for good measure, messing it up more, and Merlin rolled his eyes.

Perceval and Gwaine were waiting a discreet distance from the Men's, but it didn't look as if either of them had encountered any trouble. The corridor had the same number of people as before, no more, no less; they hadn't been gone that long.

Perceval led the way and Gwaine took up the rear. Arthur pulled Merlin close, wrapped his arm around his shoulders, and smiled thinly, gratified, at the way that Merlin seemed to curl against him, stoop-shouldered, chin-down, errantly glancing up at Arthur as if making sure that everything was all right now. It was the exact image that Arthur wanted to project to Bryn -- that Arthur was the man in charge and everyone knew it. Except when Merlin forgot.

They climbed up the stairs and headed toward the booth -- still occupied by only Bryn and Freya, their seats reversed so that Freya was sitting on the inside. There were four drinks on the table, all of them seemingly untouched. Arthur had Merlin slide in the booth first and sat down next to him.

"You all right, Merlin?" Freya asked, concerned; she started to slide around the booth away from Bryn to get to Merlin and was stopped when Bryn lashed out and grabbed her arm, holding her in place.

"What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah. 'Course I am," Merlin said with a smile, reaching for his drink.

"Merlin," Arthur said, watching Merlin's fingers curl around the glass.

Merlin froze, and turned to look at Arthur. "It's just rum. You said I could."

Arthur didn't answer him. He raised an expectant eyebrow. Merlin frowned and put the glass back on the table, leaning back against the bench, keeping close to Arthur.

Satisfied that Merlin wasn't doing anything he wasn't supposed to, Arthur turned his attention to Bryn. Bryn was watching him with a cool, calculating gaze, a small smirk stretching on his lips.

"They're so much trouble, aren't they?" he asked. Freya glanced down at her hands.

Arthur didn't rise to the bait. Instead, he wrenched control of the conversation way from Bryn and asked, "Had your phone call, did you?"

Bryn's expression soured, but he gave Arthur a firm nod. "Had my phone call."

"You tell me, then. Do we sit around having drinks like we're old friends, or..." Arthur glanced at Merlin. "Do we fuck off?"

Bryn half-chuckled, and looked as if he were considering the question despite already knowing the answer. Time stretched and expanded, and a new universe could have been born in the time that Bryn decided to answer Arthur. Finally, he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, and said, "Speaking of old friends. I've got one I'd like you to meet."

"Is that right?" Arthur asked.

"Next Friday. Clear your evening. Freya will text Merlin the details. How does that sound?" Bryn asked, almost sounding earnest.

Arthur studied Bryn in quiet contemplation, weighing everything that he saw, from the annoyed set of his mouth at having been overruled that was fading now that he understood Arthur a little bit better, to the smug expression of someone who suddenly found himself sitting on the King's throne again. He couldn't see anything in Bryn beyond the residual defeat of someone who hadn't gotten his way, but who knew that it would all work out anyway.

Arthur reached down for his whiskey, holding the glass up in a brief salute before taking a sip. "Bryn, old friend. Have I told you what a great job you're doing with this club?"

Bryn stared at him for a long, stunned moment before his mouth split into a broad grin, making the tattooed vertical waves on his face scrunch up. He laughed and shook his head, taking his own drink, reaching over the table to clink glasses together before sitting back down. "You're a bit of a pillock, you know that, Arthur?"

"Of course I am," Arthur said. "That's why we'll get along so well."

**Author's Note:**

>   
>  Please contact me for permission before writing anything in the Loaded March AU, or see [here](http://loaded-march.livejournal.com/46614.html) for my stance on derivative works.  
> 


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